


Keep me away from all who conspire, enemy fire

by Toomanyfandoms99



Series: Reality Weaver’s Web [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ancient Egypt, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ancient Egypt, Ancient Egyptian Deities, Ancient Egyptian Literature & Mythology, Angst and Fluff, Assassination Attempt(s), Egypt, Guard Dean Winchester, M/M, Pharaoh Castiel, Poison, Poisoning, Reality Bending, Time Travel, Variations on Ancient Egyptian Religion, Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-05-07 04:36:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19202020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toomanyfandoms99/pseuds/Toomanyfandoms99
Summary: When Dean first laid eyes on the Pharaoh, he was expecting an older man, wizened with age and experiences.What he got was a man around his age, so strikingly young that Dean had to blink as a double take.





	1. A NEW AGE

**Author's Note:**

> The title was taken from the song “Enemy Fire” by Bea Miller. 
> 
> Due to so much encouragement on the first work I posted months ago, I’ve decided to expand this into a series. Enjoy!

The day began as all sixth sun rotations did: Dean Winchester received his sack of gold coins as payment for being the Pharaoh’s guard.

When Dean was spotted by a slave trader at the bazaar three years ago, he noticed Dean’s build was worthy enough to be a guard.

Not a slave, thank the gods.

Dean was allowed to enter the pyramid dedicated to the new Pharaoh, who had only been in power a short time. Their new Pharaoh, as far as he knew, was responsible for a more even playing field in regards to the hierarchy of workers. Farmers received equal pay to builders, who received fair wages and bonuses every thirtieth sun rotation. Few commoners had seen the Pharaoh in person, but he seemed to be fair and good, something much needed after their last tyrannical ruler was slain. Dean also heard, however, that the Pharaoh could be cruel if need be, which was a fair trade-off for a good ruler.

Dean and the slave trader — one of the kinder ones, it seemed — requested an audience with a nobleman, which was shockingly granted. A lesser nobleman listened to the slave trader say Dean’s form was being squandered as a builder. Since it was what Dean’s father John had been when he was alive, Dean did not think much of his expected job. He did it to allow his little brother Sam to become a scribe. It was a small sacrifice, in his opinion.

The nobleman listened intently, examining Dean’s firm muscles and sculpted shoulders, then took the slave trader’s observation seriously. The nobleman conversed with a superior head of his family and returned swiftly, within one sun position. The nobleman gave Dean a post as a Pharaoh guard, which Dean was smart enough to take with no questions asked. Being a guard to noblemen, the Pharaoh especially, was one of the most coveted positions in Egypt. The pay was good, and Dean knew he needed it. His mother Mary and little brother Sam relied on him to work and bring home gold coins. No coins meant no bartering, no trading, no food or drink.

Dean worked in the Pharaoh’s pyramid palace happily, taking the post by the stone door. The Pharaoh and his blinding golden throne was to his left, and he watched silently as the Pharaoh spoke with noblemen and advisors. He tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible, and no one except his fellow guards spoke to him directly.

Every sixth sun rotation, Dean received a heavy sack of gold coins for holding a bronze staff, wearing white linen robes, and standing still for several hours at a time. The only drawback of this job was that Dean was required to reside in the palace. Guards received a cot and took sleeping shifts, even when the possibility of danger was microscopic. 

Also, Dean only got to see his mother and brother on sixth sun rotation days. He received his sack of gold coins and walked away from the palace, meeting Mary and Sam at the nearest bazaar. Dean dropped the sack off with them and was permitted three sun positions to shop with his family.

“You’re growin’ fast, Sammy,” Dean always said, cupping his brother’s head as he pulled Sam to his chest in a hug. He ruffled brown hair and watched Sam’s nose wrinkle and body squirm away. “Soon you’ll be taller than me.”

“I said no hugging in public,” Sam muttered weakly, his suntanned skin and sky blue eyes looking up at Dean defiantly. “My master probably saw.”

“How horrible,” Dean said airily, “how ever will you go on?”

Sam narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. He spun on his sandals — Dean noted Sam needed new ones — and glanced at their mother. “Tell him to stop.”

Mary laughed, tucking Dean’s chin over her shoulder. Her curly golden hair tickled Dean’s cheekbone, and he inhaled her sweet-smelling perfume oils. “Are you staying out of trouble, dear?”

Dean hummed an affirmative, Mary placing her hands on Dean’s broad shoulders. She smiled at him, observing his face like she hadn’t seen him in a hundred sun rotations. “My, I see more an’ more freckles every time. I’m pleased you’re getting enough sun.”

Before Sam’s sour face could intensify, Mary took his hand and lead them into the bazaar.

Dean found sandals for Sam, more perfume oils for his mother, and new linen clothing for himself. Dean also helped his mother pick out the week’s food, only a small amount of which he would get to eat, as the palace provided everything. Mary allowed Dean to take a small loaf of bread and some vegetables as a meal before his second shift of the day. Then, Dean bid his family goodbye as the third sun position took form in the burning sky. Dean returned to the guard boss at the entrance of the pyramid, his meal eaten on the long winding pathways, and took his shift.

Dean stood in his spot, a bronze staff in his grip, his body unadorned, his face stony.

It was always when the Pharaoh arrived that his mask faltered. It was like chipping away at a wall, watching the foundations break and crumble.

When Dean first laid eyes on the Pharaoh, he was expecting an older man, wizened with age and experiences.

What he got was a man around his age, so strikingly young that Dean had to blink as a double take.

The Pharaoh had hair as black as the night sky with no stars, eyes as blue as the sky at its hottest position, and skin shades tanner than his own.

These were all the markings of a being higher than himself. A being worthy of speaking with the gods.

The way he moved, the way he spoke, and the way he treated others equally had Dean utterly entranced. Mesmerized, hypnotized, spellbound. All the fancy words that Sam taught him.

Dean spent several sun rotations listening closely, garnering whatever information he could about the mysterious new Pharaoh. All he learned was that he had the respect of Egypt for his new rulings, and that was enough to satisfy both noblemen and commoners. This, however, was not enough to satiate Dean’s curiosity.

Rotation after rotation, Dean waited for information about the Pharaoh to slip. 

The only thing he heard of import was the Pharaoh’s name: Castiel.

It was a name worthy of being divine. It had a ring to it when Dean sounded out the syllables. Cas-ti-el. Cast-i-el. It was a name that sang. It had a rhythmic chime.

After that, Dean heard nothing else.

Dean took his shift after his visit to the bazaar, observing the Pharaoh return to his golden throne. As always, he walked as smoothly as water running down a stream, sitting with a gracefulness Dean could never acquire.

It was no surprise that Dean fell in love with the Pharaoh long ago, like the fool he was.

The chamber was getting dark, slivers of the last rays of sunlight shafting through the large room.

Dean was surrounded by stone walls and a ceiling higher than he could see. He focused on the mass of golden light to his left. 

The Pharaoh wore a striped headdress, a kilt from waist to knee, and jeweled sandals. His body from chest to waist was gloriously built and exposed. Kohl thickened his eyebrows and lower eyelids, forming the shape of a cat’s intimidating eyes before it pounced. His tan skin glowed as bronze as a statue, even in the abundance of shadows.

The Pharaoh clicked a ruby ring onto the arm of his throne. 

Dean swiveled his head towards the guard to his right. The guard stared back at him.

With wide eyes, Dean approached. He carried himself with the confidence that was required of a guard, but his throat was suddenly parched. His heart hammered in his chest, pounding on his eardrums and making his blood quicken.

Dean reached the throne and stayed a respectful distance. Two guards flanked the Pharaoh, boring into him to keep away.

Dean knelt on one knee, his head tilted slightly downwards. He prayed to the gods he would speak evenly, then asked, “Pharaoh, how may I be of service?”

The Pharaoh let the room settle in silence.

Then, piercing through the chamber like a cannonball, the Pharaoh said, “leave us.”

The guards scattered like ants being flooded out of their hill home. The chamber entrance was sealed shut with a large stone scraping against the ground.

Dean nearly gulped, but wore an impassive mask. His mind was running wild, his heart in his throat. He refused to let any of that show.

The jewels in the Pharaoh’s headdress glimmered as he stood on his golden throne. He rose like a panther, fluid and prepared to pounce.

Dean looked up through his eyelashes, still in his kneeled position. He hadn’t the strength to do much more, or he might say something stupid.

“Rise, and come near,” the Pharaoh ordered.

Dean rose to his full height, hesitating to move any closer. The Pharaoh never allowed anyone near him, unless they were royalty or an advisor. His legs were shaking, his lip quivering, his resolve wavering.

“Did you hear me? Come near,” the Pharaoh said.

Dean walked forward slowly, halting an arm’s length away.

He had never been this close to the Pharaoh before. In the time he had been there, Dean remained several feet away at least. As Dean drew nearer, he fully registered the Pharaoh’s unparalleled beauty. The Pharaoh smelled of sweet spiced wine, lingering on his breath from his meal. His tan skin was unblemished in any way, the model of a perfect Pharoah, one incorruptible and concerned with protecting his lands. Dean knew he was standing before the most beloved Pharaoh in Egypt, his godlike beauty matched by his cunning and kindness and ruthlessness when crossed.

Castiel regarded him with Sphinx-like blue eyes. “State your full name to me.”

Dean ducked his head to show his status. Decorum was absolutely imperative in this situation. He replied reedily, “Dean Winchester, Pharaoh.”

“You do not look upon me like the others in my service. Would you like to tell me why that is, Dean Winchester?”

Dread branded Dean’s heart, lancing through him as he gripped the bronze staff in one hand. He thought about taking the pointy end of his staff and piercing himself through the heart with it.

The Pharaoh knew. Dean didn’t know how, but he knew.

Dean glanced impishly at royalty, choosing to play dumb. “I do not understand, Pharaoh. I am to guard you, and I look upon you as I am required to, Pharaoh.”

“We already established that you do not,” Castiel said curtly. “I would like an answer.”

Dean’s gaze darted from blue eyes to a beige jeweled kilt to finely woven sandals. His cheeks flushed with shame. “It is a sin to answer, Pharaoh.”

Somehow, the Pharaoh understood. Not only did he know, but he understood.

He said, “I am Pharaoh. I will decide what is sin in this palace.” The Pharaoh stepped closer to Dean, and he was completely paralyzed. “I am a forward-thinking leader. And in this palace,” the Pharaoh grasped the underside of Dean’s chin, Dean powerless to stop the tilt upwards, “I do not find love, in any form, to be a sin.”

Dean refused to level his gaze with the Pharaoh, still ashamed for lusting after him. 

Dean should have known it would get him in trouble. If he got booted out of the palace, he would have to build pyramids again. He didn’t want to go back, and have his family look upon him with shame.

“I have not taken a wife,” the Pharaoh said, “and I never will. Do you know why?”

Dean swallowed thickly. Not only did the Pharaoh know and understand, but it was what he preferred. If he were not Pharaoh, Dean would be scandalized at such a viewpoint being expressed so openly. 

But since he was Pharaoh, nothing could be said against it. 

“Yes, Pharaoh,” Dean said evenly.

“You do speak. Good.” The Pharaoh removed his grip from Dean’s jawline. “Do you feel shameful?”

Dean nodded, his gaze still averted. It would take him more than a moment to disregard the beliefs instilled in him by his father, dead as he may be.

“Do not. It is a waste of time.”

That made Dean look upon Castiel, the way he did when he foolishly thought the Pharaoh wasn’t looking. He was in disbelief at such a flippant tone being used to voice an offense as serious as this.

The Pharaoh said, “come to my bedchambers tonight. You already know where they are.”

Dean batted his eyelashes at the bold proposition. He couldn’t help the flare of envy settling in his stomach. He asked softly, “do you...do this often, Pharaoh?”

The Pharaoh laughed, a husky sound warming the cold throne room. “Oh,” he breathed, “you will be a jealous and possessive lover.” The Pharaoh brought his hands back to Dean’s jaw, a thumb on his lips. “I have not had another since I was crowned. My hope is that I will not need another after you.”

Dean’s breath hitched, hopefulness filling his heart and warming him to the marrow of his bones. “Yes, Pharaoh.”

“When we are alone, you need not call me Pharaoh.” The Pharaoh drew his hands along Dean’s jaw, tracing the shape of his features, up to his cheekbones. “The gods sculpted you well,” he observed. “You may call me by my sacred name. You may call me Cas.”

It was supposed to be a regular sixth sun rotation. Never did Dean think his day would turn out like this.

Dean murmured, “Cas” like it was a promise.

He couldn’t wait to write the name on his heart.


	2. A SECRET

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After locating where Dean lived, a few leagues south of the palace, four guards bore into his very soul. Their gazes were enough to bring foreign dignitaries to their knees.
> 
> Since Dean knew a thing or two about intimidation, he stared right back. He held his chin high and stated his business. “The Pharaoh requested to see me.”

Dean’s night shift did not end until the moon was directly over the pyramid palace. He imagined it would look like a magical event, the moon balancing carefully atop the pyramid, a marble atop a push pin. When Dean glanced at the slats in the palace, the sky was a deep purple, pitch black dancing between some of the brightest stars he had ever seen. The stars were almost white in their prominence and brilliance. Egypt’s astronomers would be having an interesting night of observation, not that many commoners cared.

Sam did. Dean recalled when he was still a builder, and he was given an entire day off every seven sun rotations. He was at the bazaar with Mary and Sam when they bumped into a man carrying several scrolls. Sam thought he was a scribe, like his chosen job, but he studied the sky and stars. The man spoke to them of constellations and charting. Dean remembered how enraptured a young Sam was, his curious eyes and rare grin making Dean smile too. Dean thinks it’s part of why Sam wanted to be a scribe, someone who could learn about such natural phenomena. 

Dean had to ruminate on these thoughts, focus on them with clarity. It was the only thing keeping him sane as he walked.

The Pharaoh’s bedchambers were located strategically in the back middle of the palace, between two separate quarters for guards. Noblemen took up the side walls, also receiving ample guard protection.

Dean saw four guardsmen with particularly large and sharp staffs posted at the double doors. Dean drank in the fortified stone door, carved with a map of the city. Dean narrowed his eyes and noticed the river winding throughout the door, this way and that, a major section of the city. He doesn’t recall this map being here; it was a fairly new touch.

After locating where Dean lived, a few leagues south of the palace, four guards bore into his very soul. Their gazes were enough to bring foreign dignitaries to their knees.

Since Dean knew a thing or two about intimidation, he stared right back. He held his chin high and stated his business. “The Pharaoh requested to see me.”

The guards looked at each other. One on the left nodded and said something about the Pharaoh mentioning a guest. The guards grumbled, one surveying his person. Dean had relinquished his staff before arriving, as well as his normal attire. He now wore a white knee-length tunic his mother wove for him upon receiving his job as a Pharaoh guard, paired with bronze arm bracelets and a painted necklace that was once his father’s.

The guards turned the ornate door knobs to the Pharaoh’s bedroom, the smell of incense and his mother’s perfume oils permeating the hall. Dean kept his head down as the doors swung open slowly, squeaking dramatically, revealing the most plush bedroom he had ever seen.

Dean kept his eyes on the scattered carpets, woven with enough designs for him to know they were from foreign cultures. He ducked his head and walked forward, unable to prevent the slightest tinge of pink to color his cheeks.

As the doors closed with a resounding click, Dean dared to glance up.

The left side of the bedroom contained closets worth of clothing, in all colors and in every fabric Dean knew and didn’t know. A vanity against the back wall contained drawers and boxes of glittering jewelry, glinting gold and silver and bronze. Dazzling rubies and sapphires and emeralds and amethysts were just a few of the coveted jewels Dean recognized from Sam’s books as a scribe’s apprentice. The middle of the bedroom contained magnificently patterned carpets, the majority of which were maroon and gold. A couch, the bottom frame made of bronze and carved with swirls, acted as a centerpiece to the room. A small wooden table matched it, made from the finest varnished oak tree trunk, better than anything Dean had seen bartered in the whole of Egypt. A large glass-blown cask of spiced red wine sat on the table, as beautiful as a diamond. Two well-crafted glasses sat beside it, and Dean felt a swoop of regret in his stomach.

Dean finally looked to the right of the bedroom. The bed lay near the back wall, the mattress so large several people could sleep in it. It was adorned with red velvet sheets, vine-like patterns etched on the wooden bedpost and frame. The same vines were etched in the walls, as if the entire room was in the center of a large oak tree, the kind Dean heard stories about as a child.

The Pharaoh sat crisscrossed on the edge of the bed, dressed down in a tunic similar to Dean’s own. A gold sash and belt adorned the white threads, golden bracelets decorating his arms. Kohl remained on his eyes, arching slashes on his eyelids enhancing the drowning blue of his irises. An intricate golden necklace glinted in the candlelights, their scents scattered about the bedroom. The Pharaoh looked freshly bathed, his skin scrubbed rigorously and cared for using foreign oils to rejuvenate his appearance.

He was positively divine, and Dean found himself murmuring, “I apologize for the late hour, Pharaoh.”

The Pharaoh held up a hand, and Dean quaked in his spot. 

The Pharaoh noticed this and slowly lowered his hand. He asked demurely, “do you always work such hours?”

Dean’s lip quivered, and he answered softly, “I do whatever my boss requires of me, Pharaoh.”

The Pharaoh batted his eyelashes, then unfolded his legs out from underneath him. He set one bare foot on the floor slowly. Dean didn’t miss the way the Pharaoh’s bare legs caught against the silk sheets, caressing him like the arms of a lover as he parted from the bed. 

His second leg met with the first, the Pharaoh standing upright and floating on his feet. “Come sit with me.”

As the Pharaoh’s earthy scent passed Dean and sat gracefully on the couch behind him, Dean’s mouth fell open. He watched agape as the Pharaoh casually sat, one leg crossed over another, his foot resting on the opposite knee. One elbow rested on the back cushion, allowing him to move to the side a little. The Pharaoh leaned over and popped open the wine stopper. Lights scattered about the diamond-like surface nearly blinded Dean as the Pharaoh filled each glass with spiced red wine.

Dean remembered how to move his feet, each step feeling like a brick dragging him to his short destination. His mind felt fuzzy, and his heart was thumping in his ears, getting louder with each footstep.

Dean lowered himself on the couch, trying to keep as much space between them as possible. Since he was still addressing the Pharaoh, he kept his head a tad lower to show his commoner status.

The Pharaoh offered Dean a glass. He took it carefully, not allowing their fingers to brush. Touching royalty was like laying a sacrament against the gods without their express permission. Dean stared down at the blood red liquid, the smell of foreign spices making his nostrils curl.

Something that sounded like a laugh came from the other side of the couch. “Have you ever had spiced wine before?”

Dean was so shocked by the change in cadence, the softness and gentleness in the tone, that his head snapped back up.

The Pharaoh was smiling.

Dean caught the Pharaoh’s pure side smile, a hint of teeth in one corner, and realized something.

The Pharaoh was only a man here. No titles between them, no statuses to uphold, no difference between a being that could speak with gods and a common man. This was the Pharaoh’s intention from the moment they locked eyes in the bedroom. From the way the Pharaoh sat on the couch to the way he now spoke in a commoner’s slang to his allowance for them to be so close and remain on the same level. It was all to subtlety make Dean believe they were equal here.

Dean could learn a lot from the Pharaoh.

Dean shook his head, his blush from earlier returning to his cheeks, burning him from the inside out. He blinked down bashfully, from the Pharaoh’s gaze to the wine in his hands.

“Go on,” the Pharaoh encouraged, taking a sip of his own wine.

Dean tipped the glass to his lips, smelling the wine before he tasted it on his tongue. He quirked one eyebrow upwards at the delightful taste, his mouth curving into a small smile.

The Pharaoh half-smiled behind the rim of his cup. “Do you like it?”

Dean lowered his glass after swallowing the strong wine. “Yes.”

“No ‘Pharaoh’?” His lips curled further upward. “Good.” 

The Pharaoh set down his wine glass on the table, and Dean did the same. He was unsure what the protocol was in this situation.

The Pharaoh steepled his fingers and set them in his lap. He twisted to the side to face Dean as much as he could. Dean tried to mirror his position, but the wine buzzing through him set his nerves on edge.

The Pharaoh said, “there’s no need to be worried. I only wish to talk to you.”

Dean felt a pang of past memories flood his mind. So far, the Pharaoh was proving to be better than all of his past lovers.

Dean inclined his head, his eyelashes fanning his cheeks shyly. He murmured, “no one wants to talk to me that isn’t family.”

The Pharaoh nodded in understanding. “Let’s start there.”

“You first.”

The Pharaoh exhaled a little laugh, rich and warm. “Fair enough.”

Dean hummed amusedly.

The Pharaoh said, “I was born here, but you can tell from my furniture that I’ve been all around the world.” Dean nodded, glancing at one of the rugs, made of maroon and gold threads in a zigzag pattern. “Now, this next part is a closely-guarded secret.”

“I do not wish to-”

“I want you to know.” The Pharaoh put a finger against his lips as a warning, then dropped it after a beat. “My parents were Cleopatra and Marcus Antonius.”

Dean blinked once. “What?” He said in disbelief, “they never had a child before...” He cut himself off, looking off towards the double doors. “Huh. No one knew.”

“Except for their advisors,” the Pharaoh amended, “who ran away with me when my parents were assassinated by foreigners.”

“I think I can figure out what happened next,” Dean said. “They went from place to place with you while you grew up. You came back here and killed the foreign rulers I grew up hating.” He reached for his wine glass and held it up. “The people thank you.”

“Your turn,” the Pharaoh said thoughtfully.

Dean took a light sip of wine and set it down again. “It’s all pretty cut an’ dry with me.” His eyes widened. “And. Sorry.”

“Do commoners slur words often?” The Pharaoh asked curiously.

Dean sensed no sign of maliciousness, so he answered, “yes, it’s a symbol of status that...our previous rulers put in place. We all got so used to it that it’s more difficult not to slur words.”

“I see.” The Pharaoh took his wine glass in his hands, stroking the rim. Dean recognized it as a nervous tick, and it made him feel infinitely better. The Pharaoh said, “tell me about you, Dean Winchester. I must say I’m curious.”

“There’s not much to tell,” Dean said shyly. “My father was a builder, so that is what I became. When he died, I had to provide for my mother and little brother, Sam. Since Sam wanted to be a scribe’s apprentice, I wasn’t making enough money. A slave trader saw me one day and took me to a nobleman in the palace. He said I had the body of a guard, and the nobleman offered me the job. I’ve been here ever since, and I see my family every few rotations.” He shrugged. “That’s...that’s me. I’m not as interesting as you thought.”

“On the contrary.” The Pharaoh’s lips curved into a full-blown smile. “You’re an honest man. There are so few of them in Egypt. I’m glad to have you here.”

Dean felt the weight of his words hit home in his heart. The Pharaoh was genuine, and it made Dean feel emotional, his eyes watering slightly. He blinked it away before he could embarrass himself in front of royalty, the son of the infamous Marcus Antonius and Cleopatra.

Dean murmured, “is there anything else you would like to know?”

“Yes,” the Pharaoh replied, leaning towards Dean a little. His voice took on a honeyed tone. “If we are to be lovers, I want to know about your past ones.”

Dean ignored the thrill the Pharaoh’s voice brought to his insides. “There have been five. Two men that I saw discreetly, and three women. They only saw...my superficial qualities. I haven’t had another since I took this job.” He glanced up at the Pharaoh’s eyes, darkened by kohl. “Does that satisfy you, Pharaoh?”

“No calling me Pharaoh. Not here.”

“Does that satisfy you,” Dean parsed out the word, then said softly, “Cas?”

The Pharaoh smiled darkly. “It does, Dean. I’ve had two. One man, one woman. It’s been a while for me as well. This is bold to say,” he placed a hand on Dean’s knee, “but I know that I made the right choice for a lover.”

Dean swallowed thickly, staring down at the Pharaoh’s warm hand on his skin. He watched the Pharaoh slip his fingers away, dragging them across the knee joint, leaving him in favor for a couch cushion.

Dean blinked up, and asked quietly, “what made you want a lover, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I do not wish to marry a woman,” the Pharaoh said simply. “I do not want heirs. I do not want my children to face what I did, the fear of my death at any moment, the possibility of living the same life I did, running from land to land in order to avoid being discovered.” He shrugged. “I also like men. Very much.”

Dean smiled softly. “It is my preference as well.”

When the Pharaoh reached out to touch his hand, Dean did not deter him this time. He watched the Pharaoh’s fingers slide between his, joining them together lightly. Dean felt his veins tingle at the warmth of the Pharaoh’s hand enveloping his own. Dean swiped his thumb across the Pharaoh’s knuckles, and hesitantly smiled up at him.

The Pharaoh’s eyes sparkled with a smile too, his heady perfume making Dean’s cheeks heat up again. “Come to me every night,” the Pharaoh said, something that sounded like a request and not an order, not like earlier in the empty throne room. “I want to see you, talk with you. I want you to trust me, before we go any further. I want to do this right. I want you to be mine, and for me to be yours, for as long as we can manage. Life is too short for us to not make the most of it. What do you say?”

Dean had the audacity to tease, “I think you sound like a storyteller.”

“Forgive me for my proper syntax. What do you say?”

“I say,” Dean stood up, the Pharaoh’s hand holding onto his, following his gaze, “I’ll see you tomorrow night, Cas.”

The Pharaoh smiled, allowing Dean to slip away. “Good night, Dean.”

Dean looked over his shoulder, his feet nearing the double doors. “Good night, Cas.”

Dean pushed open the double doors, refusing to turn back until they were closed by the guards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will be once or twice a week.


	3. WINE AND BLOOD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean cast his eyes downward, approaching the couch numbly. When he reached the Pharaoh, he grasped Dean’s hand.
> 
> Dean said softly, “I hate to ask anything of you, but I must.”

Dean hardly slept a wink that night.

When he was awoken at dawn, the first slivers of light coming through the slat in the leftmost guard quarters, his boss grasped his shoulder. Hard.

Dean was alert as he was tossed from his cot, his threadbare blanket catching on his ankle as he fell to the ground. He pushed himself up on his right elbow, placing his palms flat against the tangled blanket. He lifted his chin high, looking upon his angered boss in the early morning light.

“The night watchmen informed me you arrived late to your cot,” his boss sneered. “Explain yourself.”

Dean replied calmly, “the Pharaoh requested to see me.”

The older man scoffed, crossing his large arms. “If you’re going to lie, boy, you might as well impale yourself with your own staff.” He lowered himself and grasped Dean’s sleep shirt with a meaty fist, dragging him to his knees. “This is your one and only warning. If you’re caught leaving the palace or in the company of women, you’ll be kicked back out on the street.” He released Dean from his torturous grip, Dean exhaling deeply and closing his eyes as he left the room.

He focused on his pounding heartbeat, not moving until it had slowed and normalized.

Dean stood back on his feet, opening his eyes and inhaling. He ignored the stares of other guards and went to the storage room. He found his marked staff and proceeded to grab his standard guard uniform.

Dean worked his station until late evening as punishment, receiving only a single meal in a short break between two endless shifts. The compensation he received was a few careful glances from the Pharaoh in his general direction. The Pharaoh made it seem like he was sweeping his gaze over the room, but Dean knew better. He knew the Pharaoh was looking at him without making it seem that way. 

And Dean couldn’t help but think about what occurred with his boss that morning.

With an incredibly arduous day coming to a close, Dean glanced up at the minimal stars in the pitch black sky through a slat. He walked the palace halls as quickly and quietly as possible. When he reached the four guardsmen, they allowed him entry nary a questioning glance or a single word spoken.

The Pharaoh waited on the plush couch, legs tucked under each other. His black hair was left to the elements, so delightfully messy that Dean imagined running his hands through it. His skin was once again flawless, scented candles permeating the artfully-decorated bedroom. He wore a knee-length red-dyed tunic, shaped to highlight the slight curve of his hips and expose the deep V of his chest. Silver jewelry was scattered about his person, several necklaces hung on his exposed collarbone, arm bracelets on his wrists and forearms, and even thick bands sitting above his feet. Dean thinks that silver suits him just as much as gold, and just as much as bronze. Kohl was recently removed from his eyes, leaving him bare of all the makeup required of an Egyptian Pharaoh.

He almost looked ordinary. Almost.

A deep frown marred the Pharaoh’s face as he caught Dean’s expression. “You’ve been preoccupied.”

Dean cast his eyes downward, approaching the couch numbly. When he reached the Pharaoh, he grasped Dean’s hand.

Dean said softly, “I hate to ask anything of you, but I must.”

Seeing the Pharaoh filled with such concern in his eyes made Dean feel warm inside. The Pharaoh looked upon Dean, and it was the same as when Dean looked upon the Pharaoh in the throne room. It nearly had Dean’s mouth falling open from the shock of such an action. It was as if the Pharaoh revered him, intertwining their fingers together and looking at Dean like he was the ruler of Egypt, not him.

“What’s happened?” The Pharaoh asked.

“My boss did not believe I was with you last night,” Dean said. “By simply being here I could lose everything.”

The Pharaoh was suddenly consumed by such rage Dean didn’t think he was looking at the same person.

This was the Pharaoh he heard whispers of over his years as a palace guard. This was the Pharaoh who, rumor had it, beheaded Turkish dignitaries when they repeatedly spoke against him and questioned his place as a royal ruler.

If only those men had known the truth, that this was his birthright and only his. If only they knew what Dean knew.

The Pharaoh’s eyes narrowed, their sharpness enough to slice and wound whoever was on the receiving end of it. “I’ll take care of this.”

“Don’t kill him.”

The Pharaoh’s brows pinched as his eyes expressed confusion. “I am not going to...oh, I was doing it again.”

The corner of Dean’s mouth quirked upwards amusedly. “It’s alright. I...hate to ask it, but,” he shrugged, “I need your help.”

“You do not need to ask.” The Pharaoh stood, their bodies closer than they had ever been. They were practically chest-to-chest, and if Dean leaned forward even an inch, their lips would be touching. “I will go the moment the sun rises. But for now,” the Pharaoh lowered himself onto the couch again, “I would like for us to speak, if only for a little while.”

Dean inclined his head, taking a seat beside the Pharaoh. Dean noted how wonderfully blood reds and silvers and the blue of his eyes complimented the Pharaoh’s beauty. And Dean had to admit that he was indeed beautiful.

The Pharaoh reached over to the table, where a new cask of transparent white wine filled the diamond-like structure. “This should calm you,” he said softly, pouring out two glasses. 

When the Pharaoh handed Dean the glass, he felt their fingers brush. It was the Pharaoh’s doing, but Dean did not pull back. He let it linger for a beat, then took the wine glass in his hands.

Dean reluctantly took a sip, feeling the wine buzz through him and slow his heartbeat. He exhaled through his nose. “Thank you, Cas.”

“I’ll take care of everything, Dean. I don’t want you to ever worry. You are under my protection.”

“Okay,” Dean said weakly. He was reminded of being thrown out of his cot that morning, and felt a little sick. He could tell the Pharaoh what happened, but he didn’t want him to know. Dean could handle it just fine.

“Now,” The Pharaoh placed his foot over one knee, crossing legs, “I’d like to know more about you.”

The rest of the time they spent together that night flew by for Dean. He remembered talking about his mother and brother. He remembered describing the house he hadn’t been to properly since his job as a guard began. He remembered talking about his visits to the bazaar as of late, and how he’s glad to have the time with his family every sixth sun rotation. It was a boring routine to Dean, but the Pharaoh remained fascinated, drinking it all in and nodding considerately. After the Pharaoh promised to give his boss a talking-to in a few sun positions, Dean left his bedchambers smiling.

Dean slept soundly through the rest of the night. 

He did not awaken until he was shaken by one of the guards. “The Pharaoh is coming here,” the guard said, wide-eyed and terrified.

Dean sat up on his cot and nodded. The guard scampered away, and Dean noticed the quarters bustling with awakened guards. They were all murmuring questions.

Until they were all silenced by their boss storming inside the room.

Dean and the other guards stood at attention, straightening their postures and lining up by the beds.

The boss surveyed them all approvingly, giving Dean a truly commendable stink eye. Dean stood with his head high, acknowledging it and feeling a slight thrill for what was about to happen.

The Pharaoh arrived in the quarters unannounced, as silent as a spy, observing the scene primly. He had changed into a lighter form of his usual garb, opting for less ceremonial clothing. A long white tunic, golden jewelry, light kohl, and a smaller headdress did the job just fine.

The Pharaoh, instead of looking upon the guards, set his gaze firmly on the leader of their pack. Dean’s boss ducked his head and faced the Pharaoh unimposingly, so unlike the vile man he truly was in lesser company. 

His boss asked, “how may we be of service to you, Pharaoh?”

The Pharaoh bore his icy blue eyes into his boss’s mud brown ones. “You may be of service to me. Perhaps you can tell me why you did not believe your guard when he said he was speaking with me.”

Dean’s boss shot his head towards Dean, his mouth fell open. “Why, I...Pharaoh,” the man turned his head back towards the Pharaoh, “that simply cannot be true. Why ever would you wish to speak with one of my guards?”

“Oh,” the Pharaoh said airily, “perhaps because I elected him as an advisor for the commoners.”

Dean bristled, but no one noticed. Everyone’s eyes were fixed upon his boss and the Pharaoh. Most of the guards had not had the privilege of seeing the Pharaoh up close before.

“An advisor?” The older man held back a scoff. “That seems a rather silly venture, Pharaoh, if you don’t mind me expressing my valid opinion.”

“I do mind,” the Pharaoh said, his words cutting like glass. “Hearing the voice of my people is paramount, wouldn’t you say? The best way to learn about what occurs in my city is to be advised by the common people. The guards are all common people, but one will suffice.”

His boss looked ready to say something, stumble over an apology, but he shut his mouth.

“Now,” the Pharaoh said authoritatively, “my advisor will receive no more night shifts. Those are the times he will meet with me. He will also receive the entire sixth sun rotation off to spend with his family. In fact,” he added flippantly, “every guard gets one full sun rotation off.” Dean heard murmurs of joyfulness amongst the lineup. “If I hear any more about you getting in the way of my advisor,” the Pharaoh threatened, “I’ll have you thrown from the top of my pyramid. Do we understand each other?”

Dean delighted in seeing his boss actually quake in his boots. “C-certainly, Pharaoh.” The older man bowed his head. “My apologies, Pharaoh.”

“Do not apologize to me. Apologize to him.”

The man sheepishly spun to face Dean. “I apologize.”

The Pharaoh set his eyes upon Dean fully for the first time since he entered. Dean blinked and inclined his head, observing the Pharaoh accept it from the corner of his eye. Then, the Pharaoh backtracked and left the guard quarters as soundlessly as he had arrived.

Dean watched the Pharaoh’s tunic fabric sway in the air, his legs moving like water from the city’s river. The elegance of the fabric trailing along his legs nearly made Dean gulp.

The oxygen returned inside the quarters, and the boss snapped at the lineup to get dressed.

————

Dean was on early evening shift when foreign ambassadors arrived with the Pharaoh after a long meal.

Dean was glad for the distraction from his own thoughts. The throne room was often eerily quiet, and he liked how sounds echoed throughout the chamber.

The Pharaoh lead three foreign men towards his throne and sat on the finely-polished golden seat. Based upon the men’s skin and clothing, Dean guessed they were from India or some place similar. He didn’t know much geography, as that was his brother’s job to understand.

Dean did not know when the room shifted to him, but he felt acutely aware of something.

He turned to the side a little, looking as much left as possible without giving himself away. The Pharaoh, after the morning’s spectacle, had changed into a green robe adorned with countless jewels about his bare skin. He looked like a glittering emerald bathed in diamonds, almost painful to look upon.

But that was not the issue.

Something caught the light at the wrong angle. Dean squinted his eyes to focus on the little silver light reflecting the slowly receding sun’s rays.

Dean did not think. He just reacted.

As he crossed the room, the foreign ambassador grasped the hilt of the knife, part of it out in the open. 

Dean was suddenly there, having reached the throne in a flash, holding out his staff.

The point of the staff pressed against the ambassador’s neck, and he tensed. His hand unclasped the knife, and it fell to the ground with a loud clatter.

Every single eye in the chamber fell towards the knife, in disbelief of its existence.

After a beat, the two guards posted at the Pharaoh’s side came to life, sticking their staffs against the throats of the ambassador’s two companions. Dean heard footsteps coming from all directions, every other guard in the chamber surrounding the three foreign men in a circle, staffs pointed towards them.

The Pharaoh, shockingly unfazed, rose from his throne like an approaching lion, ready to bear its teeth and roar, ripping apart flesh and meat from blood and bone. The Pharaoh blinked a single time, then said dangerously, “I suppose there’s nothing else to discuss.” His eyes glinted, his lips curving into a deadly smile, directed towards the shaking ambassador, the cold metal of Dean’s staff pricking his neck. The Pharaoh locked eyes with both guards at his left and right. “Kill them.”

Dean watched both guards beside him take their staffs and coat them in foreign blood, piercing their necks, blood spilling from gasping throats. Both men fell dead within seconds from blood loss, and Dean gripped his staff extra tight.

The Pharaoh stepped down from his throne dais leisurely, glancing down at the knife to Dean’s left, the quaking ambassador, and a passive Dean.

The Pharaoh said to the ambassador, “tell your people that what they did was very foolish. Our negotiations have ended. You will take your ship home immediately, and tell your government they have made a grave mistake. Do you understand me?”

The ambassador nodded furiously, unable to speak.

The Pharaoh set his gaze upon Dean, and he removed his staff from the ambassador’s neck. He straightened his posture and held the staff by his right side.

The bloody guards dragged the ambassador by the forearms out of the throne room. The Pharaoh blinked down at the bodies on both sides of Dean and barked, “clean this up!”

The guards that stood near Dean broke their circle and hastily carried away both bodies. Another ran for cleaning supplies, the Pharaoh and Dean being left alone for a moment.

Dean felt a palm cup his cheek, and he blinked up at the Pharaoh’s borderline dangerous affections.

The Pharaoh’s thumb brushed the corner of Dean’s mouth, and he fought back the need to part his lips, step closer, lean entirely into the Pharaoh’s touch.

The Pharaoh locked gazes with Dean, holding his attention so completely they were sucked in a vacuum, no oxygen penetrating the bubble where they stood silently. “Thank you,” the Pharaoh murmured gently. “That was worthy of a promotion.”

Dean inclined his head. “There’s no need for a promotion.”

“That’s exactly why you deserve one.” The Pharaoh’s lips curved upwards. “How very humble of you.”

Dean heard footsteps in the hall, and he pulled back from the Pharaoh, putting on a neutral mask. He turned around and walked towards the chamber entrance as guards arrived with cleaning supplies.

————

When Dean entered the Pharaoh’s bedchambers four sun positions later, he realized he spent a single sun position choosing from the few outfits he possessed.

Dean eventually settled on a jade skirt and a pure white wrap to secure his torso. He also found a sash of bronze-dyed cloth at the bottom of his clothes box; his mother gifted it to him when he became officially recognized as a man, meant to contribute for the betterment of Egyptian society in the city. He tied the cloth boldly around the seam of his skirt, securing both articles of clothing together.

He had no clue why it took him so long to dress, or why he was shaking with nerves. 

Maybe it had to do with Dean’s boss being reamed out in front of him and the assassination attempt he stopped in the throne room.

Gods, it was a day of trials.

The Pharaoh had seemingly just finished dressing himself, and it put Dean at ease.

When the double doors were shut, Dean saw the Pharaoh securing his own sash. He averted his gaze, even though not a sliver of skin was able to be seen that the Pharaoh did not want him to see.

The Pharaoh caught his gaze, and tightened the silver sash around his waist. He wore a long tunic dyed blue, the color of the river Dean had grown up catching fish in with his father. His arms and legs were left completely bare, the fabric stopping at his mid-thigh, shorter than was custom. He was left bare of all makeup and jewelry, and the difference was astounding.

Dean longed to trail his eyes further upwards, up his thighs and between his legs, but he remained sheepish and curt. “I apologize for being earlier than usual. If you are not ready, I can-”

The Pharaoh slipped away from his bed, standing a few feet from Dean in nothing but one article of clothing. The sight made Dean cut himself short, his breath catching in his throat.

“Nonsense.” The Pharaoh smiled, crossing the space between them in an instant. He reached for Dean’s hands, and lead him numbly towards the bed. Dean felt his heart pumping incredibly fast as the Pharaoh ushered them to the side of the bed. He sat them down along the right side of the mattress. “Those night shifts seemed quite terrible for your health. I have cut back on them after I noticed how slow my own guards moved. I am glad you’re bringing these problems to my attention. Now,” the Pharaoh shifted, Dean staring up in disbelief as the most gorgeous man Dean had ever known sat upon his thighs, “I wanted to properly thank you for saving me.” 

Dean stared up, his mouth agape, as the Pharaoh gazed down upon him softly. A sense of wrongness filled him up, and he looked away sharply. 

This was moving too fast. It had only been three days since they began speaking in this room. Dean was unsure he should have sex with the Pharaoh. He usually got to know his partners a little more first.

Laughter expelled from the Pharaoh’s throat, the sound as innocent as a newborn. It bubbled up in the short space between their faces, and he said, “I meant a kiss, Dean.” The Pharaoh gathered Dean’s face in his hands, and Dean felt an exponential wave of heat collide between skin. “You should lighten up a little. I’m okay. You’re okay. We are alive. We can have one another.”

Dean batted his eyelashes, and nodded slightly.

The Pharaoh leaned down, their noses brushing at an angle, his lips ghosting Dean’s hesitantly. His shockingly blue eyes met Dean’s green ones. “It’s okay,” he breathed, the warmth of him making Dean’s skin tingle, “you can touch me.”

Dean loosened the clutch on the bedsheets he didn’t know he had been holding. A trembling hand palmed the Pharaoh’s clothed thigh, and Dean shivered. He settled his other hand on the Pharaoh’s curved hip, and tilted his lips upwards.

Dean’s entire mind drew a blank as they kissed. It was too much and not enough at once. His hand lightly gripped the Pharaoh’s hip, the Pharaoh’s hands brushing his light stubble. The Pharaoh clung to him and rocked a little, Dean leaning towards him in tandem. Dean felt his mind go fuzzy, warning him to breathe before he couldn’t anymore.

He didn’t want to breathe.

The Pharaoh pulled back before Dean could make the decision to cut off his airways for good, his hands falling to Dean’s sides and resting there. His eyelashes fluttered, and Dean watched them open, his irises a vibrant blue. 

The Pharaoh let out a soft laugh on an exhale. “Oh, Dean,” he smiled and rested their foreheads together, “you taste better than wine.”

Dean blushed, an action that was very unlike him but something he couldn’t help. He blurted, “when you said you wanted me to be your advisor, did you mean it?”

The Pharaoh blinked, then sobered up for his response. “Would you like for me to mean it?”

“You didn’t.” Dean exhaled through his nose, ducking his head down. “Never mind. I...never mind. Okay.”

The Pharaoh tilted Dean’s chin up with his thumb. Dean was forced to face him, and he felt his cheeks burning.

Why did he always ruin things?

“I meant what I said,” the Pharaoh said. “I need an advisor for the commoners. It is the only way for my city to prosper. In the short time we have had together, I can tell you are quite adept and observant. I think,” his eyes shined, “if given the time to flourish, you could become the best advisor in my palace. I could give that to you, if that is what you wish.”

Dean thought it over for a long moment. He would take on a completely different responsibility if he did this right. 

But if he could spend more time with the Pharaoh, he would do anything to make it happen.

Why be merely a lover when he could be a right hand man, a person that the Pharaoh could always count on, someone to trust in the midst of constant danger?

Dean replied, “I would like the opportunity, truly.”

“Good.” The Pharaoh grinned, and Dean nearly reeled back from its brightness. “Then you have it.”


	4. A FRESH START

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the sun rose on Dean’s sixth rotation day, his first full day off, several realizations came to mind.
> 
> The most important thing was that he wasn’t asleep in his cot, in the quarters with the Pharaoh’s leftmost guards.
> 
> He was asleep in the Pharaoh’s bed, beside the man himself.

As the sun rose on Dean’s sixth rotation day, his first full day off, several realizations came to mind.

The most important thing was that he wasn’t asleep in his cot, in the quarters with the Pharaoh’s leftmost guards.

He was asleep in the Pharaoh’s bed, beside the man himself.

Waking up beside the Pharaoh was a completely innocent accident. Dean had asked, over the past few days, for the Pharaoh to teach him about the duties of his many advisors.

“As you are a commoner advisor,” the Pharaoh explained, “it is your priority to put the common people first in regards to major decisions that would impact the city. You must state your case to me if you find a resolution or your opposition’s viewpoint to be incorrect. You must back it up with the truth of what you have seen occurring in the city on your visits with your family. I will consider your offers and opinions, then bring them up with other advisors as well as my noblemen.”

“Then a permanent decision will be made?” Dean inquired, taking a sip of wine absently to calm his nerves.

“No decision is permanent,” the Pharaoh said, “but yes.”

They continued to speak until they could hardly remain awake. The Pharaoh moved them towards his bed, but did not make to dismiss Dean to the guard’s quarters.

Dean did not remember falling asleep beside the Pharaoh, but the softness of the mattress and the plushness of the pillow soon answered his question. He had not slept this well in a very long time.

Based upon the way the Pharaoh did not wake when Dean shifted slightly, the Pharaoh had not slept well recently either.

This left Dean in a strange and precarious position. He could tiptoe out of the bedroom and sneak into the quarters. He could remain and face the stares of nearly every person employed within the pyramid palace.

Dean looked upon the Pharaoh as if he would have the answer invisibly dangling before his eyes. Dean looked at the Pharaoh’s chosen outfit for the night, a crimson nightgown made of the thinnest layer of silk he had ever seen. He noticed how a shapeless fabric managed to define slender arm muscles, the curve of hips, the part between thighs. He observed how the Pharaoh slept on his right side, his hands palmed together and providing his cheek with extra leverage. He realized how long and delicate the Pharaoh’s eyelashes were when they were closed, how sleep smoothed out the worry lines of his face, how blissfully young he truly was with the minimal dawn light beaming down from ceiling slats and casting their blood orange rays upon tan skin.

The Pharaoh was so young that Dean often forgot. Dean couldn’t imagine being in this position, ruling an Egyptian city with the constant fear of danger and possible assassination attempts.

And they didn’t even know the Pharaoh’s true parentage.

Dean thinks the Pharaoh is around the same age as him, and that was terrifying to ruminate on. He did not want the Pharaoh to die young, and it was a realization that quietly shook Dean to his core.

He cared about this man. Even after only a few sun rotations together, Dean was impossibly attached to the Pharaoh.

The Pharaoh opened his eyes, silencing Dean’s overactive mind. Dean cast his gaze downward, so as to seem sheepish.

Dean felt more than saw the Pharaoh’s blue fire eyes burn into him. The Pharaoh did not make to speak, though, which left Dean staring at freshly changed white bedsheets.

A hand reached out, finger pads splaying along Dean’s right cheek. Dean had no choice but to cast his gaze upwards.

The Pharaoh’s eyes had softened, his thumb catching on the corner of Dean’s mouth.

Dean made to lift his arm, but hesitated.

He glanced at the Pharaoh, permission in his eyes, his chin jutting up in place of a nod.

Dean lifted his hand and curled his fingers around the Pharaoh’s wrist, his own hand slackening along Dean’s jawline. 

Dean kept his grip light as he turned towards the Pharaoh’s hand, his lips brushing along his thumb and his palm. He moved downwards and placed his mouth along the inside of the Pharaoh’s wrist, kissing along the spidery thin veins present underneath layers of skin. The Pharaoh bent his fingers, each one tracing the shape of his cheekbone structure. Dean closed his eyes and allowed himself to smile, if only for a moment, before withdrawing his lips.

The Pharaoh’s voice was so deep that it went straight to Dean’s bones, rattling him and setting his veins alight with boiling blood. “I will miss your presence today, my love.”

Even though they had only shared a few kisses, a few errant touches, the term warmed Dean from skin to heart. He absentmindedly registered the heat rising from his neck to the hollow of his cheeks, but did not make to conceal it.

“I will too,” Dean murmured, and his honesty shocked even him.

Yes, he was far too attached to the Pharaoh for what little time they spent together.

The Pharaoh made to lean towards him, his heat engulfing Dean as he pressed lips to Dean’s forehead. Dean bit his bottom lip and closed his eyes, smiling and sighing in pleasure. The Pharaoh withdrew his mouth and grasped Dean’s fingers. He brought Dean’s hand to his lips, kissing the bend of each finger. Dean felt a shiver travel from his neck to the base of his spine. 

Every touch was absolutely divine.

Dean gathered the strength to reopen his eyes when the Pharaoh bent his wrist and kissed Dean’s knuckles. Dean’s blush grew more heated and spread into what he figured was an unflattering red rather than a gentle pink.

The Pharaoh released his hand at last, looking unbothered by the color of Dean’s cheeks. “It is time to put your observational skills to the test. Are you ready?”

“Certainly,” Dean replied, surprised at how steady his voice was.

“Are you glad to see your family?”

Dean nodded, smiling softly. “I get to tell them the good news. That I get to see them more often.”

The Pharaoh’s expression was blank as he said, “yes, it will be a comfort to them.” He blinked. “If you were embarrassed at falling asleep here, you did not have to be.”

Dean regarded the swift topic change with regretful eyes. He noted that his family should not be brought up unless asked. “Okay,” he said simply.

“Do not worry about what others think. They cannot touch you.”

“Okay,” Dean replied hollowly.

“You should prepare for your day. I’ll let you leave.”

Dean bit back a frown, settling on something resembling neutrality. He tilted his head in a small nod and rested his hand on the Pharaoh’s shoulder. He left it for a purposeful beat, then slipped it away as he lifted himself off the most comfortable bed he had ever laid upon. “I’ll return tonight,” Dean said over his shoulder.

That got the Pharaoh’s expression to smooth out again, and Dean left the bedroom.

He ignored every single curious glance sent his way on his short walk to the leftmost guard’s quarters. He ignored the way the entire room, having just woken up, grew silent at his arrival.

He sent a warning look to the sniveling man that was his ‘boss.’ The older man remained quiet due to Dean’s newly-granted immunity.

Dean went to his cot and packed a bag for the day. He added in clothing that was either too worn or could be repaired with some quick stitching.

Bag packed, he slung it over his shoulder and exited, ignoring the pairs of eyes that watched him the whole time.

Dean went to the paymaster, who had just awoken and reached his post at the entrance of the pyramid. He handed Dean a particularly heavy sack of gold as his pay. Dean fought back a blush upon thinking about the Pharaoh himself adding more coins. 

He left the palace and walked along the winding path. That was when he had yet another realization.

So much had changed since he last saw his mother and little brother. The man who saw them at the bazaar seven sun rotations ago was almost completely different than the man arriving to their house now.

When Dean walked along beaten paths, sand sinking into his sandals, he reached the area designated as a neighborhood. The Winchester home rested on the outskirts of builder territory, near enough to the palace so that builders could have easy access to it.

Dean unlatched the string that held the wooden door together, swinging it open with a light hand. He slipped inside the open crack, shutting it carefully and setting his bag by the door.

The home looked exactly as it did when he last saw it countless suns ago: a spacious living room, kitchen to the right, table and couch to the left. Beyond the left side were three doors, two of which being where Mary and Sam slept, the other being a washroom.

Dean snuck into the bedroom he once shared with his little brother, finding Sam sound asleep in his linen nightclothes. He padded to the closet, his shirt and skirt from the previous day rustling as they were removed. Dean found a few articles of his clothing left in the closet, choosing a thin linen shirt and a river blue skirt he thought was tossed away years ago. He was glad to see that both still fit him.

He smoothed out the unused fabric and set off to the kitchen. He searched the shelves and found half a loaf of bread marked for this morning’s meal, enough to satisfy them until the bazaar opened in a few sun positions. Dean hummed purposefully as he found some raw vegetables to go along with it and procured a knife. He hummed a lullaby his mother used to sing him at night while he chopped some greens on a cutting board. Once that was done, he packaged the rest away and found the bread knife. 

As he began slicing the loaf with a precision his teachers praised him for in guard training, his mother’s door opened. A white nightgown and a halo of blonde hair framed the doorway, her eyes blinking up at him as if he were a mirage.

Mary opened her mouth to speak, but it was cut off by a silent blur of messy brown hair and linen nightclothes hugging his side.

“Dean,” Sam mumbled, his arms squeezing tightly around Dean’s middle. “Is it you?”

Dean exhaled a laugh, dropping the bread knife. He cupped the back of Sam’s head, observing the scared expression on his little brother’s face, how his eyes shut almost painfully. Dean adopted city slurs as a way to calm him. “I’s me, Sammy. What happened? Why ya actin’ this way?”

Distantly, his mother said, “we heard of an assassination attempt on the Pharaoh.”

It felt like that happened ages ago to Dean, when in reality, it had only been a few days.

“Were you there?” Sam asked softly, his teary eyes looking up into Dean’s hair. 

Dean smoothed back the stray hairs on Sam’s forehead in a soothing motion. He felt a pang of guilt for making his family worry, especially Sam. Dean couldn’t recall the last time Sam was so frightened.

Dean replied glibly, “it was me who stopped it.”

Sam tensed, his mother stiffening across from him.

“Dean,” Mary said softly, “you could’ve gotten hurt.”

“I’m not hurt.” Dean smiled wanly, in what he hoped was in a reassuring manner. “I’m perfectly okay. The amount of training I did makes sure of that.”

“But Dean,” Sam said.

“Hey,” Dean looked down at his brother, carding his fingers through his hair, “there’s no need to worry. I’m okay.”

Sam’s grip tightened in a quick hug, then he finally released Dean. “Okay,” he mumbled.

“Is this,” Mary asked, “some sort of reward?”

Dean picked up the knife handle and sliced the final part of the bread loaf. “The Pharaoh awarded all the guards with a day off every seven sun rotations. You’ll be seein’ more of me,” he stuck his tongue out for Sam, “so ya ain’t the only man here anymore.”

Instead of making a good-natured fuss, Sam beamed. “Fine with me.”

Dean glanced up at his mother, who had not moved. “Is that fine with you, Mom?”

Mary inclined her head, coming back to life. “Of course.”

“You can both sit.” Dean set down the knife. “I’ll take care of meals today.”

————

As Dean took in the double doors looming before him, he was ready for what was to come.

The Pharaoh was lying upon his bed, his mass of pillows propped up slightly. Upon seeing his arrival, he slipped out of the covers and revealed his chosen outfit: white nightclothes gathered in at his sides to define his shape. No kohl, ceremonial makeup, or jewelry was on his person, a sight that Dean was getting more and more used to as of late.

“Well,” the Pharaoh said, padding to where Dean stood, “what news have you?”

Before Dean spoke, the Pharaoh guided him to the couch. He went from exhausted to alert in the beats it took for him to walk across the bedroom.

Dean looked into the Pharaoh’s blue-gray irises and said, “they want to see you.”

The words seemed to make the formidable Pharaoh deflate, sucking the wind out of his sails. “Of course they do.”

“Wait,” Dean batted his eyelashes, “you’ve been advised of this many times before, haven’t you?”

The Pharaoh inclined his head. “I cannot, especially at this point in time.”

“Because foreigners decided to take a shot at you?”

“Because,” the Pharaoh stared at his lap, grasping the excess silk material into his hands, “the elders will know my true parentage once they take one look at me.”

“And you don’t,” Dean furrowed his eyebrows, “wish for the public to know, even if they will rejoice? Why?”

“Is it a crime to achieve greatness upon my own merits?”

“Ah,” Dean said, “I understand, but you cannot keep this up if you wish to reign until you die of old age.”

“I know,” he said gauntly. The Pharaoh lifted his head. “I would like to wait until the palace is not on edge after the attempt on my life. Then, you have my word I shall consider it.”

“Yes, Pharaoh.” Dean lowered his head as a sign of his professional understanding. He thought it best to not advise in the same manner he kissed the Pharaoh. Dean proceeded to switch to a more informal stance, allowing his posture on the couch to slacken.

“You still need not call me Pharaoh,” he murmured. “I prefer that you do not.”

“Okay, Cas. Okay.”

The Pharaoh reached for Dean’s hand, and he allowed their palms to slide together.

The Pharaoh boldly changed his position, slipping onto Dean’s thighs.

As they exchanged kisses, Dean allowed his mind to go blank.


	5. A VOW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As time moved on and changed and shifted into an endless wave, Dean realized his life had become something stagnant. Something static. Something stable.
> 
> On his day off, his mother threatened his peaceful existence with a single statement: “You are of marrying age, Dean.”

As the weeks passed, Dean got used to his new position within the throne room.

Dean hoped the Pharaoh would not reward him for thwarting the assassination attempt, that he forgot about it entirely and dismissed the suggestion from his mind.

But the Pharaoh had not forgotten, and he placed Dean as the guard to his right.

Everyone recognized the power shift for what it was, understood the not-so-veiled intricacies of such an action.

The guard to the Pharaoh’s right was always his most coveted, the strongest, the most favored. Dean received seething and prying looks from palace workers as a result. They were all asking him similar versions of a single question.

Dean yielded no information in his blank mask, something he honed and perfected. Not even the best card players and politicians could crack the nuances contained within his expression.

As time moved on and changed and shifted into an endless wave, Dean realized his life had become something stagnant. Something static. Something stable.

On his day off, his mother threatened his peaceful existence with a single statement: “You are of marrying age, Dean.”

The fact of it, impossible to miss, glaringly obvious. It halted Dean in his very footsteps as they approached the bazaar.

His mother turned around once she noticed he stopped moving. Sam, who had become less of a pain in recent rotations, who was steadily growing into a man, tugged on Dean’s hand to garner his attention.

Dean stared down at the sand-beaten path, his sandals gathering dust between his toes. He blinked once, then began to think very hard.

The Pharaoh’s notes on his advisory skills came in handy at this moment. The Pharaoh had molded him into a secret not-quite-complete lover and a secret commoner advisor. He had made Dean into a person who was not afraid to voice his opinions and speak to the ruler of Egypt plainly. Dean was glad of it, and the Pharaoh was grateful for someone to trust. He did not wish to break their union, albeit an unconsummated one. That would happen soon enough, Dean was sure of it. 

Dean needed to worm himself out of this situation, though.

He blinked a second time, his mother’s face swimming in his vision, his brother by his side. He heard his mother say his name, and lifted up his head.

Dean said, clear as a bell, “I do not wish to marry.”

Mary snorted out a laugh. “Don’t be silly.”

Dean wore his guard mask, and the startling disappearance of his emotions made Mary’s mouth snap shut.

Dean repeated, crystal clearly, “I do not wish to marry.”

His mother read something in him, a stubbornness that was uncharacteristic of builder Dean Winchester, the man he was before he became a guard.

Mary said softly, “you must be sure about this.”

“I am,” Dean said. He turned his attention to Sam, staring up at him open-mouthed. “Sammy will be enough, I assure you. He has been eyeing a great many girls.”

Sam blushed an unflattering bright red. “Am not!”

Dean smiled at his brother’s endearing anger fit. “Will you marry, Sammy? Hm?”

Sam blushed, impossibly, even redder.

“That’s a yes,” Dean said fondly, glancing over towards his mother. “Now let’s shop.”

His mother had not mentioned it since, and Dean was grateful for his most glaring obstacle to be overcome. It would not guarantee that she would remain silent on the subject forever, but Dean was fine with biding his time.

Even in the safety of the Pharaoh’s bedroom, Dean could not escape the topic.

“What ails you?” The Pharaoh asked, his gorgeous tunic, dyed a purple as deep as the skin of a ripe pomegranate, enhancing his candlelit skin. He looked ravishing enough to eat, which was most likely his intention.

Dean wished to run his hands along whatever places the Pharaoh allowed him to touch tonight. But he knew the Pharaoh could be as stubborn as him when broaching certain topics.

Dean murmured, “my mother wanted me to marry, but I said no.”

An intense silence settled in the bedroom, and Dean chose to focus on his bronze pleated skirt, a new addition to his wardrobe.

“You should marry,” the Pharaoh said, his voice blank and downright dangerous.

“It is not what I want,” Dean said, his eyes roving over the Pharaoh’s candlelit expression. “It is never what I wanted.”

The Pharaoh picked apart his words, his narrowed eyes searching for any indication of a falsity.

“Are you not worried,” the Pharaoh parsed out, “for your family’s continued lineage?”

“My little brother will marry,” Dean replied nonchalantly.

The Pharaoh shifted in his seat, leaning forward a little. Dean didn’t miss the way the tunic exposed practically half of the Pharaoh’s chest. The Pharaoh’s eyelashes fluttered in an almost shy manner, his hands fisting the short fabric at his thighs.

The Pharaoh murmured, “I have been waiting for the right moment. Perhaps it is now.”

Dean’s brow shot up, excess heat engulfing his entire body. The breath was stolen completely from his lungs, as if a thief had taken it right from under his nose.

All he had to do was steal it back.

The Pharaoh was dangling before him like a prize, a tantalizing fruit ready to be plucked from a tree. The Pharaoh’s full lips parted, his irises shifting from the bluest of blues to something darker.

Before Dean himself knew what was happening, he captured the Pharaoh’s lips in his. Dean drank him in hungrily, palming the Pharaoh’s cheek to tip their heads at just the right angle.

It all felt so good, so real, so right.

Dean playfully swiped his tongue over the Pharaoh’s lip, then pulled away entirely.

The Pharaoh growled as Dean stood up swiftly, his eyes demanding more, more, more.

Dean spread out his arms, and somehow, the Pharaoh understood.

He knelt on the couch cushions for leverage, looping his arms about Dean’s neck. Dean palmed the Pharaoh’s hips, guiding him forward. The Pharaoh wrapped his legs around Dean’s hips, and Dean lifted him off the couch.

The Pharaoh brushed a single hand across Dean’s cheek as he held the man in his embrace. The Pharaoh, with half-lidded eyes, smiled down at him.

Dean managed to accomplish the masterful feat of carrying the ruler of Egypt to his bed, receiving a long kiss as he deposited the Pharaoh on the mattress.

The Pharaoh looked upon him with a reverence that Dean thinks he just might deserve.

Dean sank to his knees in answer, his hands trailing up the Pharaoh’s bare legs. He looked upon the Pharaoh and murmured, “what would you like, Cas?”

The use of the Pharaoh’s sacred name made him bite his lip. “I would like,” he said carefully, “to give you everything you wish.”

Dean blinked once, then again.

He rose to his feet, and rounded the bed, to the side of the mattress where he once fell asleep. He sank back down into the plush bed, then laid down.

The Pharaoh slid to where Dean lay, his tunic riding up his thighs. He cast one leg over Dean’s opposite side, entrapping him. He skidded his fingers along the hem of Dean’s pleated skirt, then skirted it upwards with light fingertips. Dean’s breath hitched once his touch halted at his mid-thigh.

The Pharaoh lowered himself onto Dean’s thighs, his fingers brushing over the side tie holding the skirt in place.

The Pharaoh arched his back down, their noses brushing and foreheads resting together. He hummed as the tie gave way with a single tug. His eyes fluttered, and Dean felt long eyelashes brush his own. “Is this what you want?” The Pharaoh asked, the words exhaling into his mouth.

“Yes,” Dean sighed, pressing their lips together lightly. “Please.”

————

A blast of dawn sunlight cast itself across Dean’s eyelids, striking him awake. He tilted his head to his side, his senses coming back to him dully as he narrowed his eyes.

He lowered his gaze, looking upon Cas. He cast his entire body atop Dean, neither of them caring enough to cover themselves up. Their clothes were cast somewhere along one of the many foreign-imported rugs scattered about the room. The sheets were torn forcibly away from them, creating pools of silk nesting on the ground. Cas had managed to fit himself quite snugly in Dean’s embrace, neither of them having moved an inch, even in sleep.

Dean’s eyes ate up Cas’s body, drinking in every visible inch, taking his time. Wondering whether he should card his fingers through impossibly messy hair, black as ink. Wanting to kiss his creaseless forehead, his thick eyelashes, his sharp cheekbones, the stubble forming along his cheeks, the shape of his jawline, his nose, his eyebrows, his lips. Debating if he should drag his fingertips along Cas’s endless curves, the miles of tan skin begging to be touched, skim them down his shoulders and spine and sides and chest and stomach. Bring his touches lower and lower and lower, make Cas laugh in delight as he lavished attention on his thighs and knees and calves and ankles and feet.

But Dean did none of those things. He stayed still, allowing Cas this extra time to sleep.

He was holding Castiel, Pharaoh of Egypt, secret son of the beloved Marcus Antonius and Cleopatra, in his arms.

For the first time, Dean wished the world would stop turning. He wanted to remain in this space, if only for a little longer. 

But it was not to be.

Dean felt Cas’s fingers twitch along his ribcage. Cas expelled an exhale from his chest as his breathing regulated itself. 

The first thing Cas did consciously was smile, his lips curving unmistakably upwards. Each finger pad banged like a drum beat along his ribcage, a playful gesture that had Dean smiling too. Dean’s chest rose and collapsed, giving him away.

Cas tilted his head up, smiling at Dean, his eyes wide and bright and breathtaking. “My love,” he said, his voice deep and full and cripplingly fond.

“My dear,” Dean tested, instantly liking the way the term sounded on his tongue.

Cas’s smile widened, and he made to move, lean his head towards Dean. He captured Dean’s lips, the contact instantly warming them both to the core.

Cas pulled back lightly, bringing a hand to caress Dean’s cheek. “Has anyone told you that you look radiant in the mornings?”

Dean’s face flushed. “Has anyone told you that you look positively divine?”

Cas’s lips pulled back to reveal his teeth, and he chuckled softly. He rested his chin on Dean’s chest and murmured, “I suppose we are at an impasse.”

“I would not say so,” Dean said airily. “I would say we’re just getting started.”

Something shadowed Cas’s lighthearted demeanor, something hiding behind his eyes. He looked upon Dean and asked hesitantly, “you will stay with me? Not marry?”

Dean shook his head. “I will never marry. You have my word I will stay.”

Cas smiled again, giving off an aura of lightness and blinding sunlight. “Good.”

“Now,” Dean looked up at the ceiling slats, watching dawn rays change colors, “I must dress and prepare for my shift.”

Cas acquiesced easily, slipping away from Dean’s body and lying on his side. His fingers splayed across Dean’s stomach, creating another drum beat. “There are several outfits I have not worn that you can choose from.”

“I do not wish to-”

“I insist.”

Dean turned his head to the side and studied Cas’s nonplussed expression in regards to his own items. He regretfully parted from Cas’s closeness, retrieving his pleated skirt and light shirt from his side of the floor. He stood up from the bed without shame, allowing Cas’s eyes to burn into his backside.

He crossed the cavernous bedroom, the air tickling his bare skin as he reached Cas’s closets. He hid himself behind the clothes, running his fingers along the various fabrics and dyed colors.

A metallic skirt caught his eye. Dean pulled the other clothes back, observing the shining fish scales resembling that of a silver carp. He looked to the side at the shirt to match: a sleeveless article dyed a pearly white.

He unhooked the outfit and boldly set his clothes from last night in their place. Dean considered it as an inscription in Cas’s life, a remembrance that he was there and would not leave so easily.

Dean slipped on the fish scale skirt and tugged on the pearly shirt. He smoothed out the soft fabric and smiled. He quite liked Cas’s clothes.

He rounded the clothes area in his outfit and spun his feet to the side. He went to the vanity and observed himself in the mirror.

Every time Dean saw his reflection was a shock to him. He could never quite believe he looked as appealing as he did. Dean noticed dozens of new freckles since he last saw himself in a mirror, and his body had filled itself out even more.

He continued in his stride towards Cas’s bed, observing Cas pull on the purple tunic he wore last night. It pooled around his legs, and Dean watched the tunic unfold across Cas’s thighs and to his knees.

Cas set his gaze on Dean, then, and he was left paralyzed.

Dean finally reached Cas, and smiled softly. “Do you mind if I take this one?”

Cas opened his mouth, and closed it. His eyes roved over Dean from toe to head. Dean refused to blush under the weight of his gaze.

After a moment, Cas managed, “you may. It looks...better on you.”

Dean hummed and stepped as close to Cas as possible. “I’ll see you in the throne room.”

Cas nodded numbly, thumbing Dean’s jaw and pressing their lips together. Dean leaned into it gratefully for a few blissful beats.

Cas pulled back and said softly, “I’ll see you out there.”


	6. THE ART OF SEDUCTION

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every guard glanced upon the Pharaoh, and lingered on Dean. He did not let it bother him. It was becoming a regular occurrence. Wherever Dean went, whenever he took so much as a step, there was always pairs of eyes on him.
> 
> A childish part of him wanted to say, ‘am I really that pretty, boys?’
> 
> But saying that would be suicide.

The day stretched on, ridiculously long and arduous.

Dean was forced to remain to the right of the throne, Cas in his peripherals. He was forced to glance upon the glittering seat and the bejeweled man that sat upon it.

The outfit Cas chose for the day was similar to the tunic he wore last night. It was the same shade of deep purple, and it was positively sinful on him. Paired with thick swirls of kohl across his eyelids and several pounds of gold jewelry and a gaudy headdress, Dean began to pray to the gods for a momentary respite amidst the chaos.

Dean did not receive one, not that he expected to. The first foreigners permitted into the city since the assassination attempt were there, eating up Cas’s time until night fell. Dean’s attention drifted in and out as Cas tended to hours upon hours of meetings in the throne room. He always had to squeeze his eyes shut to remain alert when the throne room began to blur.

Once the endless drift was at last over, the foreigners from a country he could not pronounce went to their provided quarters at the opposite side of the palace. It was security protocol to keep visitors as far away from the Pharaoh as possible. It was strictly enforced after the last attempt on Cas’s life. More guards had also been posted in the throne room, leaving Dean with less room for error. 

More wary eyes were on him than ever, vying for Cas’s favor, waiting for the opportunity to shine.

Since Dean was a possessive and petty man, he did not give a millimeter or reveal any weaknesses.

Although Dean’s weakness was the man sitting upon the throne, no one knew that. No one could, and no one would. Dean’s mask was airtight, and he did his job too well to garner complaints from his ‘boss.’ The older man has been waiting for the opportunity to toss Dean out of the palace, and Dean would never give him one. He would die before Dean gave a single thing away.

The Pharaoh left his throne at last a sun position later, a group of noblemen advisors speaking to him about this and that and the other thing.

Dean didn’t care.

The noblemen dismissed themselves, and the Pharaoh was a moment’s walk behind them. Dean and Cas’s left guard flanked him as he began to walk. They allowed Cas to lead them across the dark chamber and into the halls. 

Every guard glanced upon the Pharaoh, and lingered on Dean. He did not let it bother him. It was becoming a regular occurrence. Wherever Dean went, whenever he took so much as a step, there was always pairs of eyes on him.

A childish part of him wanted to say, ‘am I really that pretty, boys?’

But saying that would be suicide.

It didn’t keep Dean from imagining it, laughing inwardly to himself to calm his wild state of mind.

The Pharaoh reached his bedroom, two more guards opening the doors for him. Cas stepped inside, the guards closing the doors.

The bedroom guards sent Dean pointed looks, but he averted his gaze.

Dean and the left guard silently walked to the guard’s quarters. When Dean entered, all conversations grew silent.

Dean felt flattered he was the topic of such intrigue.

He went to his cot and filled his bag with a second outfit. He heard murmurs rising from various corners of the room and drowned them out. He felt gazes burning on his back, asking him the usual questions.

His ‘boss’ suddenly entered his peripherals, and Dean turned his head to the side.

A hush fell over the room, and the older man asked, “what do you have over the Pharaoh?”

Dean blinked once. This was the conclusion they had all come to? Seriously?

Dean replied, “I know who he is.”

The words were like a backslap in the silence. 

Dean took advantage of it and slung his bag over his shoulder. He left the room, and no one tried to stop him.

If this was what the guards wanted to believe, Dean would not stop them. He would encourage it. Rumors were better than knowing the truth of the matter.

He was allowed inside the bedroom moments later, and he pretended not to hear guards already whispering the new information to one another.

The doors swung closed, and he did not see Cas.

He looked to the left, where a door was ajar. Dean never paid much attention to what laid behind it, presuming it to be another closet of some sort. Something he wasn’t meant to see.

Dean set his bag on the mattress and peeked through the opening.

He reached his hand out, his fingertips touching the wooden door. He gave it a light push, the door swinging open slightly.

He stuck his head in, and inhaled sharply. “Sorry,” he said, ducking his head and disappearing behind the door. “I didn’t think.”

A melodious laugh pierced from the tiled washroom and filled Dean’s eardrums. “You can come inside.”

“U-um...a-are you sure?”

Cas hummed amusedly. “Stop lingering behind the door and get in here.”

Dean pushed the door open further, slipping inside the washroom. He would have had no idea such a large room was attached to the bedroom. Mosaic tiles reflecting the sunlight through ceiling slats created a cacophony of color, the bathtub large enough to fit several people. It was filled with fresh water and a thick layer of bubbles. Several opened bath oils and perfume bottles and soaps scattered the shelves above the bathtub.

Cas rubbed a wet sponge along the back of his neck, then set it down in the space behind him. Dean drank him in, his relaxed posture as he stretched out in the tub, his head tilted back and an arm cast over the side.

“I-I could wait outside,” Dean said sheepishly.

Cas snorted, regarding Dean with an amused gaze. “I’m not going to bite you. Come closer.”

Dean shuffled in his sandals along the mosaic tile. He sank to his knees, tucking his legs underneath him for leverage. His guard uniform covered any bare skin entirely, the fabric splaying across his skin and touching the tile. As he smoothed out the fabric in his lap, he glanced up at Cas passively.

The arm dangling over the edge of the bathtub dragged fingers across his jawline. Dean observed shyly, meeting Cas’s tired eyes and watching them grow more alert with his presence.

Cas’s forefinger halted on the underside of Dean’s chin, tilting it up to Cas’s eye level. “I have been thinking about your proposal.”

“The one about visiting the common people?”

“Yes.” Cas dragged his finger across Dean’s chin and pulled his arm back. He reeled Dean in like a fish on a hook. “The silence of the room has given me an idea to explore in the near future.”

Dean leaned forward, bewitched in a way he could not explain. “And what would that be?”

Cas’s lips curved into a smirk that spelled danger and disaster. “Going incognito, of course.”

Dean blinked, considering the option and lowering his head as he thought.

It wasn’t the worst idea he had ever heard. In fact, it had several advantages. No one would know he was the Pharaoh. He could move about the city freely. He could be viewed as a commoner himself, as only palace workers knew the Pharaoh’s face. He could leave with Dean on his next day off, in a few sun rotations. Dean could break away from him and allow the Pharaoh to see his city and talk with his people unhindered by royal protocols.

But with its advantages came several glaring disadvantages. There would be no security. No guards or people to help the Pharaoh should something disastrous happen. The very fate of Egypt hung in the balance in a worst case scenario, due to Cas’s insistence on not producing heirs. This venture would also have to done discreetly. It would not be easy to make the Pharaoh disappear for a couple sun positions.

None of it, though, was impossible to accomplish.

Dean lifted his head, realizing how Cas watched his every movement, every twitch, every blink. How Cas read him, assessed his state of mind, understood his thoughts and considered them carefully.

Dean said, “if that is the route you wish to travel, there is not much I can do to stop you.”

“So you will not?”

“No.”

“Will you help me?”

Dean’s mind whirred on how he could possibly accomplish such a feat by himself. But he would have to, and would do anything to aid Cas. It was Dean’s proposal, after all. It was best that Cas know the most about the commoners as he could from firsthand experience.

Dean would have to do this, manage this completely unaided by outsiders. The stakes were set, and could not be vanished with a wave of his hand. What was proposed could not be erased from Cas’s memory.

Dean replied, “I will.”

“Good.” Cas diverted from business to pleasure in a single second. Dean watched the shift before his very eyes, how Cas’s gaze softened and had an air of playfulness about it. “Now come in.”

Dean’s eyes widened, dumbfounded. He stared at the bathtub, at his clothes, at Cas.

More laughter rang in the washroom, and Dean watched how the force of it tilted Cas’s head further back, his mouth open and his eyes closed and his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

Dean rose to his feet and tugged the one-piece guard uniform over his head, leaving him in thin underclothes. Cas’s laugh was cut off effectively, his eyes boring into Dean.

Dean winked and dropped his underclothes down, stepping out of them. He left his uniform near the door in a fairly-composed puddle.

Then, he returned to the bathtub, looking down as Cas looked up at him thoughtfully.

Dean set one foot inside the warm water followed by the other, sinking into a crouch. The bubbling water ate up his legs, his waist, his stomach. He kept his legs folded slightly as he sat on the opposite end of the tub. He let his feet scrape against the bottom as he stretched his legs out luxuriously. His toes found Cas’s, and he kept his legs pressed together. The bathtub was long enough to allow their legs to stretch out completely, their feet reaching each other’s knees.

Dean playfully toed the side of Cas’s leg and smiled. “Cas,” he teased, “was this your way of seducing me?”

“Perhaps. Did it work?”

Dean hummed noncommittally. “Perhaps.”

Cas bit the inside of his cheek, releasing it slowly. He grasped the sponge and said, “catch.”

He tossed the sponge across the tub and Dean caught it easily, emitting his own little laugh. “Does this mean I should wash up?”

Cas upturned his nose. “That would be wise.”

Dean batted his eyelashes and soaked the sponge in soapy water. He stole some of the various scented concoctions Cas had on the bath shelf as he scrubbed himself clean. Every once in a while, he glanced over at Cas, who had his head tipped back and his eyes closed. Cas hummed something foreign to Dean’s ears, and he figured it was a lullaby he learned throughout his countless travels around the world. Dean chose not to ask which country, as it might cause Cas to think about events he would rather forget.

After Dean had washed himself more meticulously than he was normally allowed, he shifted in the water, which was beginning to become murky. Cas’s eyelashes fluttered open once Dean nudged his leg again.

As Cas leveled his gaze with Dean’s, he had managed to wade as close to Cas as the bathtub allowed. Dean hovered an inch away from Cas, remaining gentle rather than predatory.

He dropped the sponge in the space between them, the material soaking and plopping atop the water. Cas practically giggled as drops splashed up between them. 

Dean asked, “am I now more to your liking?”

Cas leaned forward a tad. “Perhaps.”

As Cas laugh sang through the washroom for the third time, Dean swallowed it up with his lips.


	7. A CALCULATED RISK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean sat crisscrossed on the mattress, the fiery robe hardly covering his bottom half. “You did not choose me because I lusted for you. Because it was the easy option.”
> 
> Cas blinked, his thought process catching up with Dean’s as quickly as it took to blow out a candle.
> 
> The illusion that Dean had hated all this time was shattered, and he was glad of it.
> 
> Cas scattered the deck of cards face down, and revealed his hand. His true intentions. 
> 
> He said, “I chose you because the gods told me you are important.”

The next sun rotations had an odd routine. When night fell, Dean arrived in the bedroom to find Cas either bathing or dressed in something alluring. They would discuss the plans Dean had in his head during his guard shifts. Cas would flick through them demurely and approve them. The air would change once business was concluded. Dean made love to Cas until he had him purring like a satisfied kitten.

It was the night before all this secret madness when Dean felt fear and doubt overcome him.

Cas was in the stage between wakefulness and sleep when he blinked over at Dean. “Pick a robe you like, and one for me.”

Taking the distraction, Dean slipped away from the bed, allowing Cas to watch him move. Dean had not previously thought of how clothes could be such a hindrance.

He went to the clothes racks, edging himself towards the robe section. The amount of various comfortable nightclothes Cas had always left Dean flummoxed on which to choose.

But, as always, something new and fresh caught his eye. Dean unhooked a robe that looked to be made of a phoenix’s wings, the silk transforming from maroon red to blood orange to a soft yellow. It was as if a blazing fire was captured in the silk piece, and Dean was drawn to it in the most inexplicable way. He stuck his arms in the longer sleeves and cast it about his shoulders, using the tie to secure it around his waist. He looked at the exposed V of his chest and how the fabric seemed to suit him, how it was made for him.

Dean tore his eyes away from himself and unhooked a silk blue robe for Cas, rippling like the river that ran through the city.

The water to his fire.

Dean revealed himself from behind the racks, and he heard Cas gasp.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he glided towards the bed with Cas’s robe in hand. Cas sat up in bed, staring at him with wide eyes.

Dean handed Cas his robe, and he took it in his grip absentmindedly.

“Y-you,” Cas swallowed thickly, cutting himself off.

Dean smiled wanly and laid on his side of the bed. He faced Cas and saw so many revealing tidbits in his eyes that they forced Dean deep into his own thoughts.

For a reason unknown to him, he was reminded of their first one-on-one encounter in the throne room. He was reminded of the Pharaoh picking him above all others, merely for lusting after him. Eyes were windows to the soul, after all. The Pharaoh read him, knew him, and accepted his feelings. His shamelessness in regards to his preferred gender encouraged Dean to get over his inhibitions when in private.

But something else Dean could not place was bothering him. Niggling at his mind. Telling him to pay attention.

Dean would not have originally described his meeting with the Pharaoh to be forceful, but it was the closest word he could find to label the feeling.

It all clicked so suddenly that Dean’s facial expression changed, and Cas noticed it immediately.

This was what bothered him! The question that had stayed in the back of his mind ever since this all began.

Why did the Pharaoh choose him as his lover? His something more?

And it was not because of the obvious answer.

Dean sat crisscrossed on the mattress, the fiery robe hardly covering his bottom half. “You did not choose me because I lusted for you. Because it was the easy option.”

Cas blinked, his thought process catching up with Dean’s as quickly as it took to blow out a candle.

The illusion that Dean had hated all this time was shattered, and he was glad of it.

Cas scattered the deck of cards face down, and revealed his hand. His true intentions. 

He said, “I chose you because the gods told me you are important.”

The breath was stolen from Dean’s lungs, and his lips parted. His voice was a breathy whisper. “Wh-what...how?”

“To me,” Cas clarified. “Important to me. A part of my...destiny.”

Dean’s heart protested from the lack of breath. He exhaled deeply to revive his normal air and blood flow.

Dean, like some commoners, had his doubts about the validity of the gods. This proved him wrong. Talk of destinies was rare, and was only bestowed to the best rulers of Egypt.

Cas was worthy enough. Of course he was.

“Am I...allowed to know, or ask?” Dean asked hesitantly.

Cas decided to sit crisscrossed as well, facing Dean atop the rumpled sheets. He slipped his robe over his shoulders and let the watery fabric trail down him unashamedly.

“All you must know,” Cas said, “is that we are both precisely where we are supposed to be. You are imperative to my success as Pharaoh, and you must remain by my side. Always.”

Dean’s mouth curled down in the slightest hint of a frown. He refused to look hurt, or surprised. “So you only care for me because the gods told you to pursue me?”

“No,” Cas said incredulously, shaking his head. “That’s ridiculous. I truly do care for you. Very much. I was not told to fall for you.”

Dean inhaled sharply. “You...were only told to befriend me?”

“Yes.” Cas reached out, and Dean held his hand in his lap. “What I have done since was my choice.”

“Do the gods know?”

“The gods know all. Of course they do.”

“And they...haven’t...protested?”

Cas chuckled. “No, Dean. Despite what our people say, the gods are fluid. They believe all love is beautiful. Worthy of being,” he smiled, “explored.”

Dean inhaled a large amount of air, and released it through his nose slowly. He brought Cas’s knuckles to his lips, and glanced at the ceiling slat. The moon rose directly above them, indicating that dawn would be there sooner than Dean wanted.

Dean murmured, “we should rest. A Pharaoh needs his beauty sleep before rising early to escape.”

“You’re right.” Cas leaned forward, his lips catching Dean’s cheekbone. “Sleep well.”

“And you.”

————

Dean drifted off for what felt like only a few minutes.

Dawn light started to cast its rays along the bed, and Dean blinked himself awake fully.

There was little time to waste.

Dean leaned towards Cas beside him and kissed his forehead. Cas hummed, and Dean watched his eyes flutter like a bird taking flight.

Dean parted from the bed and retrieved the bag he had brought with him the night before. He set it on the couch and opened it, taking the extra guard uniform in his hands. He let the fiery robe flow behind him as he glided towards Cas, who had sat up and rubbed his eyes to awaken. Cas took the linen material and left his bed. Dean averted his gaze as Cas nudged his blue robe off his shoulders, allowing it to pool on the floor. Dean picked up his own uniform and sadly slipped off the robe he had grown fond of. He pulled his guard uniform over his head and secured the gold rope at his waist. When Dean turned back around, Cas had finished securing the rope on his identical guard uniform. 

Cas blinked down at it and shrugged. “These aren’t the most comfortable, are they?”

“Perhaps not for a ruler who’s gotten used to silk,” Dean said.

Cas stuck out his tongue, and Dean rolled his eyes.

Dean enacted the plan on autopilot. He left Cas’s bedroom and told the guards that the Pharaoh was ill and could not have a single visitor. The news circulated throughout the palace while Dean went to his quarters and packed a now-empty bag with his clothes for the day off. He paid no mind to the recently-awakened guards observing him from their cots. No one had made to speak to him since his ‘boss’ questioned him.

Dean walked through the palace halls casually, going to the paymaster. He received another large bag of gold coins as his pay. He set it into his bag and went to the entrance.

As he exited the palace and reached the start of the sandy path, Cas arrived from the shadows.

Dean turned his face towards him, a laugh in Cas’s mischievous eyes. Cas took his hand in the barren emptiness of the land and said, “remind me to tighten up security in my own bedroom.”

Dean smirked amusedly. “If this works out, you won’t want me to remind you.”

Cas chuckled. “That is true.”

Dean stepped forward, taking Cas with him. They walked the path in silence, kicking up dust with their sandals.

When civilization could be seen, Dean slipped his hand away from Cas. “I cannot help you from here. Please exercise caution.”

“I have a dagger. Do not worry. I am not just a pretty face.”

Dean smiled in place of a laugh. “No one said you were, Cas.”

Cas began to walk away from Dean, getting a head start. He whirled around and said, “see you soon, my love.”

Dean watched his figure recede, and he walked towards builder territory.

————

“-said I could do manuscripts now.” Sam beamed at Dean. “Ain’t that great?”

Dean walked along the path to the bazaar, shaking his head slightly to regain his awareness. “Of course.” He smiled wanly. “Soon you’ll be master scribe, and married to a beautiful woman.”

Sam scoffed at the final part of his sentence. “Tha’s not my first priority.”

“Of course not,” Mary said as she trailed a pace behind them. “It’s best you focus on your work first. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Dean regarded his mother for a beat. She was receiving more wrinkles on her suntanned face, and her age was truly starting to show. Her halo of golden hair remained, though, her white dress making her look attractive and angelic.

Dean had to remind himself that his mother would not live forever.

The bazaar was as crowded as was normal, and a part of Dean wanted to seek out Cas. He had promised he would be at the bazaar for the majority of the day, as that was the main source of activity in the city.

And the main source of information.

Dean distracted himself by helping his mother pick out vegetables and giving his little brother advice on what clothing would best attract an interested woman.

Suddenly, as Dean handed coins to a spinster for Sam’s new tunic, he saw a flash of white clothing and pitch black hair. 

The image sharpened, and he saw Cas two rows away, talking to a vendor at a food stall. He looked positively resplendent under the sun’s rays, making him subtly glow to symbolize his divinity.

Sam said his thanks to the spinster, and Dean ducked his head to follow his brother. Sam had become a talker as of late, and his muscles were starting to fill out. He was far more slender than Dean, but a scribe did not require much muscle.

Dean waited until they reached another clothing stall to seek out Cas again.

Cas was looking right back, having followed them a few stalls down. A row away, he held up a hand.

Dean held up his, and Sam caught the gesture. “What are ya doin’?”

Dean nearly winced, and he said, “waving to a friend.”

Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean, pulling them away from the stall. “You don’t have friends.”

“I talk to people. I have one friend.”

“Why is this the first I’ve heard of it?”

Dean shrugged nonchalantly. “Do ya think I just sit an’ brood all day, Sammy?”

“Yes.”

Dean rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “I have a friend. There ya go.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Dean snorted. “What?”

“Bring him over here.”

Dean sighed. “Seriously? You’re gonna be a kid today?”

“Yes.” Sam smirked proudly. “I wanna meet your one friend.”

“Fine,” Dean said shortly.

He lead them down the row of stalls, towards the next one over. Cas was still there, and Dean cursed everything he could think of because he hadn’t moved.

Dean trudged down to a food stall, where Cas had purchased a small bottle of wine. Dean’s face flushed instantly at the prospect of it being for them.

Cas saw them in his peripherals, and he regarded them both with interest. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean gestured to Sam. “My brother didn’t think I had a friend. So this is Sam.”

“Don’t go sellin’ me out!” Sam exclaimed.

“You asked,” Dean said pointedly.

Cas inclined his head. He looked at Dean, who tried to advise him not to use his name.

Cas acknowledged it, and elected to ignore it.

“I’m Cas,” he said to Sam. “Good ta meet ya.”

Dean nearly reeled back a step at Cas’s use of the common city slang. It was a nice touch, and Dean felt a rush of heat make its way through him.

“Sam,” his brother said. “Thank you for settlin’ this for me.”

Cas’s smile turned playful. “Is this ‘cause he broods?”

Sam’s eyes widened, and he laughed delightedly. “Yes!”

“Understood.” Cas inclined his head again. “I’ll see ya, Dean.”

Dean gave a little nod, and Cas went the opposite way.

Sam clapped his shoulder, a grin still on his face. “Okay, I believe you now. Let’s go find Mom.”

But Mary had found them.

She appeared behind them like a shadow. “Let’s go, boys.”

Sam jumped. “Yeesh, Mom!”

Dean didn’t so much as flinch. He looked at his mother’s eyes, and how they didn’t waver from Cas’s retreating form.

She knew.


	8. THE TRUTH

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Dean poured stew in his own bowl and sat at the table, Mary asked casually, “who was that man you spoke to at the bazaar?”
> 
> Since Dean had gotten rather skilled at his job as both a guard and a secret advisor to the Pharaoh, he recognized the curiosity and demand laced into her tone.
> 
> He could not lie to his mother. She would know if he was withholding information.

As Dean scooped stew into the bowls of his mother and brother, he knew what was coming.

He thought of Cas’s retreating form at the bazaar earlier, the look in his mother’s eyes. Analyzing the man that Dean told Sam was his friend. Observing his unique shade of black hair, a rarity in such a hot climate. Only Marcus Antonius and Cleopatra had hair that dark and thick, unrelenting even in the harsh sunlight. Cas’s eyes were yet another feature that distinguished him from the average man. It was common for irises to be lighter, but not quite like that. The blueness in Cas’s eyes, similar to the river, had something richer to it, a quality that could only symbolize divinity.

Dean was surprised no one else in the city realized what Cas was, only looking at his guard clothes and not seeing beyond that. It was a good thing they did, or Dean’s plan would have never worked.

As Dean poured stew in his own bowl and sat at the table, Mary asked casually, “who was that man you spoke to at the bazaar?”

Since Dean had gotten rather skilled at his job as both a guard and a secret advisor to the Pharaoh, he recognized the curiosity and demand laced into her tone.

He could not lie to his mother. She would know if he was withholding information.

However, Sam answered before Dean could. “That’s Dean’s friend. I didn’t believe he had a mythical creature such as a friend, so I demanded to meet him.”

Dean rolled his eyes at his brother fondly. “You don’t have many friends either.”

“Sure I do.”

“Are they invisible?”

Sam clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing.

“Boys,” Mary admonished.

Sam loosened his shoulders, backing down. They were too old to start fights at the dinner table.

Dean picked up his spoon and blew away the steam in his stew. He took the first sip, glad to see that his cooking abilities had not diminished in his time away from the kitchen.

“Dean,” Mary said.

Oh, Dean almost forgot. This was something that was going to happen, whether he liked it or not.

Mary asked, “who is he, really?”

Sam’s head snapped his head between Mary and Dean, clearly perplexed.

Dean soaked his spoon in the stew. He took another large sip before replying breezily, “the Pharaoh.”

Silence settled over the table, and Dean set his spoon into his bowl. He watched stew fill up the space, and set it into his mouth.

Sam scoffed, the sound spearing through the air. “That’s hilarious. Right, Mom?”

Mary hadn’t once looked away from Dean, and he didn’t care if she kept looking. She would not find anything except the truth.

“Mom?” Sam’s head swiveled to Mary. “He can’t be serious, can he?”

Dean found his lips curling upwards, revealing a hint of teeth. He looked at Sam, then Mary, letting his spoon drop into his bowl. He wasn’t going to eat much, he guessed.

Since he was already here, had already gotten this far into the hole, dug his own grave, he continued. “I got a promotion several suns ago. Not only am I the right hand guard, but I’m an advisor. Things are,” he huffed, “far more complicated than they look. I mean,” he chuckled, feeling a tad insane, “I’m friends with the Pharaoh of Egypt, and I’m the only person he trusts in his entire palace.” He spun his spoon in the bowl absently. “Must be because we’re the same age. And because I don’t want power, or anything other than friendship.” The last part was a lie, but Dean veiled it adequately enough. “There ya go. Now ya know.” Dean held a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell anyone, or I’ll lose my job. Well, jobs. Okay? Okay.” Dean suddenly felt uncomfortable, and he itched to leave. He made to stand. “You know what? I’m gonna go.”

“Sit down,” Mary ordered.

Dean sank back into his chair, crossing his arms. He cursed the gods for the inability to lie to his mother.

“We’re gonna start from the top. That man is the Pharaoh? Truly?”

“Yes.”

There was a lengthy pause, then Mary asked, “is he the son of who I think he is?”

“Yes.”

“Gods,” Sam’s eyes widened, “where has the son of Marcus Antonius and Cleopatra been hiding?”

“All over the world, until he was old enough to return.”

“But,” Sam said, leaning forward with interest, “everyone thinks he’s a foreign ruler.”

“He does not want to be known for his parents’ legacy,” Dean said coolly, “but admired for his own merits and accomplishments.” He took a sip of his stew, observing the steam dissipate.

“How was he hidden so successfully?” Mary asked herself aloud.

“Not sure,” Dean replied.

“I can’t believe I,” Sam paled, “spoke with royalty.”

A corner of Dean’s mouth quirked upwards, and he sipped stew to cover it up. “He didn’t want you to know he was royalty, obviously. That was the whole purpose of today.”

Mary snapped her head towards Dean. “Why did he roam around without security?”

“He wanted to see his city with anonymity.” Dean shrugged. “Can’t blame him.”

“And you’re okay with this?” Sam asked incredulously.

“Yeah,” Dean replied easily. “In case you hadn’t realized, no one noticed him.”

“That doesn’t make sense to me.” Mary’s eyebrows pinched together. “It’s obvious.”

“I’m thanking the gods it all worked out,” Dean said. “Now eat the stew I so lovingly prepared for you before it gets cold.”

Dean lifted his spoon, Sam and Mary following suit.

————

Cas painted quite a picture in Dean’s eyes.

He laid on his bed, a loose robe dyed sunset orange hanging about his sides. The sleeves and edge of the robe were made with excess fabric, the airy silk dangling off his mattress. A wooden lute, painted with intricate desert flowers, rested across his torso. Cas’s smile was a sight purer than a baby’s laugh as the strings rested on his collarbone. He tilted his head down at an odd angle as his gaze focused on the finely-tuned strings. His long eyelashes fanned his cheeks as his fingers plucked the strings, creating deep yet light notes. Dean caught sight of a ruby ring on Cas’s hand, there for ornamental purposes rather than practicality. Silver jewelry also hung across his wrists like chains, complimenting his orange robe rather well.

Cas noticed Dean’s presence acutely. Dean knew it in the way he loosened his posture, his eyes brightening and his smile widening. Cas placed his finger pads on the lute strings, halting their bizarre vibrations. He lifted his head away from his soft pillow, orange in a sea of red bedsheets.

Dean wanted to join him in his elation and forget about what happened, but he couldn’t.

Cas frowned, the edge of his mouth downturned. He sat up, setting aside the lute. “What ails you, my love? I thought today was a success.”

“It was,” Dean said blankly, approaching the bed and sitting beside Cas. He mirrored Dean’s own position, purposefully allowing the robe’s placement to show off his thighs. “I am afraid something else happened, though.”

Cas used his hand as a prop for his chin, his elbow pressing against his thigh. “And what was that?”

“My mother saw you, and knows who you are.”

Cas merely batted his eyelashes, as if they were discussing the weather. “And this is a problem how?”

“It isn’t. Aren’t you...mad at me?”

“No. You didn’t tell her outright.”

“But she figured it out.”

“Your mother is a smart woman,” Cas observed casually. “I trust she won’t spread the information around the city.”

“No.”

“Good.” Cas’s robe parted from the sheets, choosing to settle on Dean’s lap instead. Dean looked up as Cas looked down, casting his arms around Dean’s neck. Dean gripped the soft silk fabric pooling around Cas’s hips. Cas rolled his hips forward and purred, “can we get to the part where we celebrate our success?”

Worries alleviated, Dean felt a heat pooling in his stomach. He smiled softly and murmured, “if you keep wearing me out every night, I’ll have to start setting ground rules.”

Cas seemed overly pleased at the suggestion. “You should take that as a compliment. You’re certainly the best lover I’ve ever had.”

“You are too,” Dean found himself saying.

“We’re in agreement, then.” Cas rolled his shoulders back, his sunset orange robe flitting down his arms and torso. The silk fabric fell apart in folds, forming into a pool at his waist. Cas cupped one of Dean’s cheeks with his hand, and Dean shut his eyes at the sensation. “It’s a compliment.”

Dean chuckled. “There’s something specific that you want tonight. I can sense it. What would you like?”

Cas rolled his hips again, tipping Dean back a little. Dean slowly laid against the mattress, Cas following him down.

“I see,” Dean exhaled, Cas resting their foreheads together and chuckling. 

Dean tilted Cas’s chin down, their lips meeting for the first time that night.

————

Dean awoke before dawn naturally, no slivers of light yet reaching the ceiling slats. The blue-purple-black amalgamation in the night sky indicated to him that dawn would be approaching very soon.

He stretched his legs and torso with a quick muscle movement, up and down. He removed an arm from beneath his pillow and shifted to his side rather than his stomach. He fell asleep in an odd position, but not odd enough to be paying for it with cramps.

Dean observed Cas through half-lidded eyes, the faintest smell of incense from the night before lingering in the air. Cas was always the epitome of beauty, whether dressed in Pharaoh garb or dressed in nothing at all. Dean remembered how skeptical he was when they first talked in the throne room, how he was afraid of being caught or if Cas would be just another lover who didn’t care about him.

Cas proved him wrong. Not all men were so cruel.

Cas not only cared for him deeply, but he allowed Dean to flourish. If Cas had not chosen him, he would still be a brutish guard, unnoticed and unimportant. He was glad that Cas took a chance and allowed his mind to shine through over his matter.

Something caught Dean’s eye, and he honed in on it. Silver strings shone near the edge of the bed, and he was reminded of what Cas was doing when he arrived last night.

Dean sat up, slipping away from the sheets. An unknown breeze caressed his skin as he walked, his gaze taking in the lute resting against the foot of the bed. He diverted course to the rack of clothing, going to the robe section he had grown fond of in recent nights. He ran his fingers across the rainbow of dyed fabrics, choosing an emerald green frock. He secured the ties and smoothed out the silk, crossing the room again. He grasped the handle of the dewdrop-shaped wooden lute, carrying it to the loveseat. A cask of untouched red wine rested on the table, and Dean pulled out the diamond stopper. The two glasses Cas always kept for them were recently shined, not a single dust mote visible. Dean poured a gulp of wine for himself and tipped it back.

As the slightest hint of courage spurred him on, he sat on the couch, the lute cradled in his lap. He set the strings along one shoulder, and began to pluck.

It was a classic drunkard’s song, one Dean was used to hearing in the boisterous streets at night, when the bazaar became a battleground for partygoers. Musicians took to the streets, playing lutes and harps and drums. The lute was always the most interesting to Dean, the way it sung to his soul when he couldn’t sleep.

Dean began to hum the lyrics, not quite remembering all the words. He preferred the beat, and his fingers plucked the strings along to it. Going from light to deep to light again. Dragging his fingertips down each string to increase and decrease the intensity of each note.

Dean soon lost himself in the song, replaying the melody as he recalled it. He focused on the strings and desert flowers painted on the wood, lavender and bright yellow and sunset orange blooms. He strummed along, reaching the end of his third round of the melody.

A tan blur caught the corner of Dean’s eye, and he tilted his head to the left.

Cas stood in his full naked glory, his shoulders set and his posture straight, looking down upon Dean curiously. Dean found himself blushing, his eyes widening and gazing downwards in a sheepish gesture. “I apologize for disturbing you,” Dean managed, feeling a bit like a fool.

Cas tilted his head to the side, squinting his eyes the slightest bit. “Do not apologize,” he said clearly. “Please continue.”

Dean blushed harder. “I am sure professional lutists would be more to your liking.”

Cas placed a hand on his hip, defining the V of his lower stomach enough to make Dean gulp. “I wish to hear you.”

Dean tamped down on his buzzing nerves, exhaling through his nose a single deep tone. His fingers hovered over the strings, and he began to pluck away, the melody forming from the beginning. Cas listened intently, not so much as breathing as Dean focused on the strings and notes.

When it was finished, the final note resounding in the bedroom, Cas smiled uncharacteristically bright. Dean chose to focus on his face, nothing lower, or they would both regret it.

“If you set your mind to something,” Cas said, “you seem to master it quite easily. That’s an incredible gift to have, you know.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Dean murmured. “I was never given much of a chance. Not until you.”

Cas dropped his hand from his hip, his eyes glittering. “You’ve given me an idea.”

“Oh?” Dean set the lute against the loveseat.

“Everyone should get the chance to pursue what they wish. I’m going to put it in writing.” Cas’s smile transformed into a grin. “There. Already one new accomplishment, and it isn’t even dawn.”

Dean looked towards the ceiling slat, observing the early dawn sun cast its first rays along the bed. “I must go.”

Cas hummed. “Give your robe to me.”

Dean stood up, untying the emerald robe and unshouldering it. He handed the silk to Cas and walked to the bed. He slipped on his guard uniform as Cas secured the robe.

Dean whirled around and strode towards Cas. He grinned and tossed his arms around Dean’s neck. Dean tugged him in for a long kiss, Cas’s chuckle halting as Dean swallowed it up.

After Cas pulled back, Dean winked and spun on his feet, leaving the bedroom.


	9. SIDE EFFECTS INCLUDE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean heard voices garbled in his ears, but they sounded a million miles away, a speck or blob within a sea of sand. They were inconsequential to the lightness Dean felt in his bones. His mind was fading and fogging and being overstuffed with cotton by the second. He felt his bodily functions failing him, his veins slowing their blood flow and his limbs losing their weight.
> 
> His vision blurred, and as he began to fade into nothing, he wondered if anyone else ever willingly drank poison to save their lover.

The foreign wine dangled in the air between the Pharaoh and the dignitary. Dean felt in his gut that something was wrong.

He acted before he thought. He grasped the filled goblet before Cas could take it, tipping a gulp of it back.

Just as he suspected.

It wasn’t just crushed grapes in this wine. Not the harmless spices that Cas was fond of drinking in his red wine. Dean could pick out every single spice, he drank it so often.

The unfamiliarity of an ingredient within this particular wine goblet, meant to secure peace between two powerful nations, was anything but a peace treaty.

Dean heard voices garbled in his ears, but they sounded a million miles away, a speck or blob within a sea of sand. They were inconsequential to the lightness Dean felt in his bones. His mind was fading and fogging and being overstuffed with cotton by the second. He felt his bodily functions failing him, his veins slowing their blood flow and his limbs losing their weight.

His vision blurred, and as he began to fade into nothing, he wondered if anyone else ever willingly drank poison to save their lover.

Everything went black, and Dean felt himself falling, forever and ever.

————

Until he was no longer falling.

He was stagnant, splayed across a flat surface made of stone. His spinning vortex of a clouded mind finally cleared and halted its dizzying descent into madness.

He was alive. 

Well, that was debatable.

Dean was surrounded by hard cold stone. It bit at his skin and made his body react, gooseflesh rising about his bared arms. He remembered to exhale, the motion putting his own faint heartbeat into perspective.

He was alive, but just barely.

Dean forced his eyes open, only to find he was not lying on the throne room floor.

All he saw was stone, the room made completely from it. It was dark, only a few dim torches providing light.

He pushed his palms against the hard stone, lifting himself into a sitting position.

“Took you long enough.”

Dean whirled around in fright, his body crouched, a mixture of fright and flight at war inside.

The woman in front of him was not ordinary. She wore garments Dean had never seen before. A strange material covered her ankles up to the waist. A cotton shirt was the only thing Dean had a name for, dyed a grape purple. A strange acclimation of jewelry adorned her neck, circles cast around a single string. Her hair was as dark as Cas’s, and was worn so long it reached her stomach. An odd form of footwear completed the ensemble, and Dean thinks he has gone crazy after all.

“You’re very dramatic.” The woman rolled her eyes in clear disgust. “I’m a woman, yes. I’m not an alien.”

“Wh-what’s an alien?” Dean stammered.

“Oh, God.” The woman pinched the bridge of her nose, then exhaled. She put her hands on her hips. “Never mind.”

“You mean Gods.”

“Right.” The woman sighed. “I’m never going this far back again. Note to self.”

“Huh?” Dean gaped, rising to his feet slowly. “Far back?”

“Right. Okay.” The woman looked exasperated. With him or herself, Dean didn’t know. “You’re the Dean Winchester of Egypt, yes?”

“Of,” Dean’s eyebrows furrowed, “Egypt?”

The woman squinted her eyes, studying him as he stood ramrod straight. “You are. Yes. A guard.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “How do you know that?”

“My name,” she interjected, “is the Reality Weaver.”

“That is not a name. That is a title.”

“It’s my name,” she insisted. “Now listen. You’ve just been poisoned by the ambassador of the Assyrian Empire. This is your one and only chance to live.”

Fear struck Dean to his very core. He must have looked like a startled creature as he asked in a soft whisper, “are you Nephthys?”

“I am not the death goddess.”

“Reality Weaver,” Dean reminded himself. “You expect me to believe you aren’t a goddess?”

“I merely engineer the fabric of space and time,” she replied. “Not that that’s such a big job or anything,” she added sarcastically.

“You’re Ma’at!” Dean exclaimed incredulously.

The woman sighed deeply. “You’re going to keep guessing, aren’t you?”

“Are you Hathor, the sky goddess?”

“No.”

“Isis?”

“Definitely not.”

“Heka, goddess of medicine and magic?”

“I’m not here to give you medi-” she cut herself off, then paused. “Actually, the magic thing isn’t far off.”

Dean beamed. “I knew I’d get it.”

The woman facepalmed. “I’m the Reality Weaver, okay? Get that in your head.”

“Fine.” His expression soured. “Didn’t know you were so touchy. Sorry.”

She snorted. “Only Dean Winchester would do this to me. Only him.”

“Uh...I’m him. What are you getting at?” Dean gasped. “There’s more of me?!”

For the umpteenth time, the Reality Weaver sighed. “Listen. Before you freak out, you have to listen to me.”

Dean clasped his hands behind his back. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Very good. Now,” she began, “the universe is more complicated than it looks. This world,” the Reality Weaver gestured around her, “is one of many. Think of them as...copies.”

“Like,” Dean blinked, searching his mind, “when Sam rewrites the same thing over and over?”

“That’s the definition of a copy, yes.”

“Uh huh,” he drew out. “You expect me to believe this?”

“The other Dean Winchesters did.”

“They’re stupid Dean Winchesters.”

“You said it,” the Reality Weaver smirked, “not me.”

“You’re telling me...each copy of these worlds include me...from another time?”

“Correct.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

The Reality Weaver stepped closer to Dean, and he kept his posture stiff and proper. In case this woman was a higher being of some kind, Dean wanted to make sure he followed proper etiquette. He didn’t know how judgmental the gods and goddesses would be when he died.

He hoped he didn’t die here. Not now.

The Reality Weaver replied, “I told you at the beginning. You were poisoned by the ambassador of the Assyrian Empire. In the grand scheme of things,” she said ominously, “you die today.”

Dean felt it, then. How his heartbeat was slow in this place. How his blood didn’t quite flow at the speed it was supposed to. How his mind didn’t quite seem right, the haziness clouding the edges of his vision.

She was slowing down time itself. Giving Dean the choice whether to live or die.

No goddess on Dean’s mental list of Egyptian deities had power quite like this.

Dean blinked, and he felt a bout of dizziness clawing at him. Wanting to drag him down. Dig their nails into his ankles and yank him into the realm of the dead, the Duat, prematurely.

He did not want to go to the Duat. Not yet. Not so young. Not when the world was finally providing him with brief respites of happiness.

“Dean Winchester of Egypt,” the Reality Weaver said gauntly, “you must make a choice. The poison in that goblet, if drunk in its entirety, would have killed you within minutes. A small amount has bided you hours. And your hours are almost up. Tell me: do you want to live and change the course of history for your world, or do you want to die and allow a society of oppression to destroy the lives of future generations?”

Dean felt the pressure crushing him like a heavy weight. To lighten the mood, he said, “that’s sounds like a loaded question to me.”

The Reality Weaver looked ready to disappear and leave him to die. “How Castiel manages to corral and tame you in every world astounds me.”

“Huh?” Dean asked confusedly.

“Oh, did I skip over that part?” She asked. “Oh.”

“What part?”

The Reality Weaver explained, “you and Castiel are together in every world. It’s why I’ve taken a special interest in your death.”

Dean refused to hope for the best. “Together in what capacity?”

She emphasized, “every capacity,” then grinned innocently.

Something in Dean felt free at the admission. Like a piece of his heart had taken flight and chirped a songbird’s melody in pure elation.

The gods truly did want them together. When Cas told him that some time ago, Dean had his doubts.

“Then there is no choice in my answer,” Dean said tactfully. “If the gods will it, I must live for the Pharaoh.” Dean peered up at the woman suspiciously. “What is the trade-off for such an action?”

The Reality Weaver said, “this is my personal investment. Allow me to worry about the trade-off. It will not concern you directly.”

“You expect me to believe,” Dean squinted his eyes, “I will not pay in the afterlife for cheating death?”

“The payment will not be yours to carry out,” she said, “it will be mine.”

“And you would do that for me?”

The Reality Weaver inclined her head. “For no cost, yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I invested myself in helping Dean Winchester and Castiel in every world.” She shrugged. “Despite both of your many flaws, I have come to care for you and Castiel. Your love is very unique. I seek to preserve it.”

“For what purpose?”

“None whatsoever.” The Reality Weaver smiled. “It pleases me to see a love in many worlds being fulfilled, against all odds. That is the only reason I can give you.”

“Okay,” Dean said tiredly, “I will trust you. Bring me back to life, and I will do as the gods command of me, stay by his side.”

“Good.” The Reality Weaver raised a hand, bending it at the elbow. She put her finger and thumb together, creating a loud snap.

Dean was encompassed in darkness, and his eyes fell shut.

————

Dean was lying on a bed, not his cot. His cot sheets were itchy, made of linen. It was cheap material, what a guard deserved to signal their lower status.

But Dean was on the softest mattress he had ever laid on. Softer than Cas’s bed.

He dragged his palm across the covers, the feel of silk bringing his senses back to him.

He opened his eyes, and an unfamiliar man was bent over his form. Dean sunk his head further into the pillow instinctually. The older man did not seem to notice the subtle maneuver, and held out two fingers. He reached towards Dean’s neck, checking his faint pulse, growing stronger by the minute. Dean blinked down as the warm fingers touched his cold skin, a tad frightened. His flight instincts were on overdrive, and he wanted to push the man away and leap out of this bed, run as far as he could before he was stopped.

“By the gods,” the man said incredulously, staring off to the side suddenly, “his pulse is strengthening. This is a miracle!”

Dean swallowed thickly, realizing he was parched from being comatose for several hours. He tilted his head to the side, the pillow swallowing his cheek.

His eyes widened comically as Cas said, “it is no miracle, Doctor. The gods willed it.”

Dean drank in the sight of Cas. It felt like days since Dean had seen him. 

Cas was wearing the same Pharaoh garb he was when Dean last saw him. A pure white garment, covering him from shoulder to ankle. The sheer amount of golden jewelry he could wear without falling always astounded Dean. His headdress was also still intact, shining a dull bronze in the dying candlelight.

Cas had been there by his side for hours, without so much as moving. It was probably late at night, and Cas remained vigilant at Dean’s bedside.

The only indication that Cas was worried was the smudged kohl around his eyes. In fact, it was an indication he shed a tear.

Or many.

But Cas kept his composure, not allowing anyone the opportunity to expose his visible weakness.

Gods, Dean loves this man.

The doctor removed his fingers from Dean’s neck, addressing Cas with wide eyes. “You prayed to the gods, Pharaoh?”

“And they answered my prayers,” Cas inclined his head, “indeed.”

“Thank them for me,” the doctor said, with a genuineness that surprised Dean. “I was getting worried I could not save him with medicine, Pharaoh.”

“It is alright,” Cas said demurely. “Since he is awake, I will dismiss you for the night. I request that you stay close.”

The doctor inclined his head. “It is my honor, Pharaoh.”

“The guest room across the hall has been prepared for you.”

“Many thanks, Pharaoh.” The doctor shuffled away, leaving them blissfully alone.

Dean wondered why he was in the guest bedroom if foreigners were supposed to be here.

Cas probably had them killed.

Cas stepped closer from his place against the wall, where he must have been leaning for some time. “Your mother and brother have been sent for,” he said curtly. “They will arrive momentarily.”

Before Dean could ask Cas to stay, he spun on his feet and left him alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back in school until the holidays, so posts will be weekly again.
> 
> Kudos and comments help!


	10. REALITY BENT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Cas left Dean in the guest bedroom alone, Dean knew one fact for certain.
> 
> Cas was pissed.
> 
> Dean had seen Cas’s colossal anger directed at others who were unfortunate enough to warrant it. His anger had never been directed at Dean.
> 
> Dean felt a deep pit formulate right in the middle of his heart. It sucked away at his resolve, bleeding him dry.
> 
> Before he could travel too deeply into his own mind, two figures framed the doorway.

As Cas left Dean in the guest bedroom alone, Dean knew one fact for certain.

Cas was pissed.

Dean had seen Cas’s colossal anger directed at others who were unfortunate enough to warrant it. His anger had never been directed at Dean.

Dean felt a deep pit formulate right in the middle of his heart. It sucked away at his resolve, bleeding him dry.

Before he could travel too deeply into his own mind, two figures framed the doorway.

A blur of brown linen and messy hair rushed towards him. It hopped onto the mattress, slender yet strong arms tossed around Dean’s neck.

“By the gods, Dean,” Sam murmured into Dean’s shoulder, “are you trying to kill us both?”

Dean loosened the stiff set in his shoulders, sitting up as properly as he was able. Sam leaned his head back, looking at Dean from a side angle.

Dean looked behind his brother, at his mother crossing the threshold into the bedroom. She looked around warily, her hair forming a halo around her face in the candlelight. Her clothes were a light brown, matching Sam’s. She was a tad paler than usual, and Dean ducked his head in guilt.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Dean murmured, his voice resounding like a whip crack in the silence.

Sam glanced between the two of them, dangling precariously off the edge of Dean’s bed. His arms left Dean’s shoulders, dropping into his lap. He remained a silent spectator, knowing his place and opinion in this matter was moot.

Mary entered the guest bedroom completely, standing by his bedside. Sam shrunk a little since he was between them. 

Mary said, “you are never to do this again. Do you understand me?”

Dean, who was expecting a shouting match, bobbed his head numbly. “Yes, ma’am.”

“No job is worth your life. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Mom.”

Dean shut his mouth after that, a question he was too afraid to voice lingering in the forefront of his mind.

Is love worth a life?

The air sucked out of the bedroom with Mary’s arrival returned when Sam looked at his brother. Sam smiled toothily and remarked, “this is the most beautiful palace I’ve ever been in.”

“It’s the only palace you’ve ever been in,” Dean said, allowing Sam to lighten his mood.

“You haven’t been to any other palaces either,” Sam countered. “Do you always sleep in such,” he lifted up a section of the comfortable bedsheets like it was infested with locusts, “lavish accommodations?”

“I think he’s earned them.”

The deep timbre had Sam’s head snapping towards the doorway, Mary and Dean looking upon their guest with curiosity.

Sam’s mouth fell open wide enough to catch flies.

Dean could watch the mechanisms work in his mother and brother’s brains. Watch them associate the man they met at the bazaar with the divine man before them, in all of his glorious Pharaoh garb.

It was a monumental shift, Dean knew. If he had seen Cas in a guard uniform first, a simple white cloth covering him from neck to knees, he would have a hard time connecting the dots. But since Dean had seen Cas covered in headdresses and masses of jewelry first, the transition was easier.

Cas stepped into the guest bedroom, bringing with him the ultimate air of regality. It was a stance meant to earn the respect of those around him, no matter what their status. It was a posture created to make people listen to him, and accept his wishes.

Dean glanced at his mother, who looked at Cas with something akin to anger. It was the quiet kind of rage, the kind that boiled in her blood and simmered just beneath the surface. She would not act on it, but the venom in her eyes remained.

Cas focused on Dean, standing at his bedside, near Mary, and crossed his arms. 

Cas said with a clenched jaw, “you should not have done that.”

The words seemed to make Mary lessen her fuming stance. Sam looked at them both, unsure of what would come out of this confrontation.

Dean looked upon Cas and asked, “what would you have me do?”

Sam visibly flinched, expecting Cas to slap him for such a brazen remark.

When Cas did not, Mary glanced worriedly at both of her sons.

Cas’s posture loosened, a hand going to his hip. “Why must you make being,” Cas said his next phrase carefully, aware of their present company, “your friend,” he sighed as he finished, “so difficult?”

Dean cracked a smile, ignoring the blatant stares of his mother and brother. “That’s part of the fun.”

Cas blinked, suddenly looking very tired. “I am not amused.”

“What should I do,” Dean asked thoughtfully, “the next time someone tries to poison you?”

Cas blinked again. “How about you don’t drink any of it? How does that sound?”

“It was peace treaty poison. I had no choice.”

“You could have just,” he sighed, “taken it away.”

“I had to be sure it was poisoned. The smell wasn’t enough to go on. If I went the route you suggested, I would have to justify my actions to several confused dignitaries.”

Cas pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked like he was either going to hit him or straddle him. He dropped his hands, the sound of his palms clapping against his sides rather loud. “Gods, you’ve gotten far too good at your job.”

A side of Dean’s mouth quirked upwards. “Thank you.”

Cutting the conversation off from going any further, Cas observed a shocked Sam and pensive Mary beside him.

Cas said, “I want to formally apologize for putting your son in danger, Mrs. Winchester.”

“There’s no need,” Mary said in a clipped tone. “It was his own fault,” she added curtly, “Pharaoh.”

Dean chose not to contest, the room filled with a bout of intensity he didn’t have the strength to pierce through and dissolve.

Cas glanced at Dean and shrugged. A ghost of a smile reached his face. “Agreed.”

Sam suddenly grinned, his expression towards Dean saying ‘you’re in so much trouble.’

“Rest assured,” Cas continued to Mary, “a situation like this will not happen again. I will make it so. If it is compensation that you want, I can give it to you.”

Sam’s eyes widened, and his playful gaze said to Dean ‘ask him for a bank full of gold coins.’

Dean rolled his eyes at his brother.

Mary said, “compensation is not needed. His pay is more than adequate.” She crossed her arms. “Do I have your word on this promise, Pharaoh?”

“Unlike most rulers, I keep my word. You have it.”

Mary inclined her head. “I have to ask: is your name really Cas?”

“Castiel Antonius,” Cas corrected, “is my full name. I allow my,” he teased, “so-called friends to call me Cas.”

Dean snickered, and his mother tried to level him with her gaze for such a disrespectful noise.

Cas did not care. He merely quirked an eyebrow at Dean and continued onwards. “If you would like a tour of the palace, I can have an escort take you around.”

Sam’s spirits rose at the offer, his back straightening and a smile brightening his features. He looked at Mary warily, silently asking permission to accept the offer.

Mary saw the hopefulness in Sam’s eyes and acquiesced. “That would be...nice.”

Dean smiled. “Have a good time.”

“Dean needs to rest,” Cas decided. “You may stay the night. I’ll get a room prepared.”

Sam tossed his arms around Dean’s neck again, pulling them together in an awkward side hug. “Good night, Dean.”

Dean patted the back of Sam’s shoulder. “Good night.”

Dean saw Cas duck his head out of the room, whispering in a guard’s ear. The man nodded and disappeared. A second guard appeared, who ushered Mary and Sam out of the bedroom.

When the halls were quiet and empty, Cas boldly shut the door. He placed his hands on the headdress, slipping it off and revealing his messy black hair. “Gods, this was starting to feel heavy.”

Dean was too nervous and perplexed to chuckle.

Cas set the headdress across the guest bedroom, where a dresser rested against a plain stone wall. He slipped off his sandals as well, and unclasped his mounds of jewelry. He left the precious metals and jewels on the dresser in a big shining pile.

Dean watched it all happen in puzzlement. Why was he staying here? Why was he making himself comfortable?

Dean murmured, quiet but loud enough to travel across the room, “aren’t you mad at me?”

“Oh,” Cas walked leisurely from the dresser to a side of the bed, “of course I’m mad at you. I just decided it wouldn’t do to fight about it.”

“Is it because you can’t find a flaw in my logic?”

“It’s because,” Cas sat on the bed, settling crisscrossed by Dean, “you forgot the flaw that should always remain in your logic.”

“And what would that be?”

“I love you.”

Dean blinked, unsure of what he was hearing.

“I love you,” Cas said, “and you will not die until I do. Is that understood?”

“Back up,” Dean was torn between laughing and crying, “um, what was that first part?”

“I love you.” Cas batted his eyelashes, his head tilting to the side. “Is that a hard concept for you to grasp, Dean?”

“Uh,” Dean said, “no. Um. I love you too.”

“You’re unsure if you love me?”

“No, I’m...of course I’m sure.” Dean beamed, feeling sheepish as he slid his hand into Cas’s. “I love you. I wasn’t expecting you to...say it that way, that’s all.”

Cas smirked amusedly, a hint of seriousness in his gaze. “Do you promise before the gods you will not sacrifice your life for mine ever again?”

Dean glanced up at the ceiling, at the slivers of a starry night sky in the slats above them. He was reminded of all the beautiful nights they have spent together thus far, and Dean couldn’t believe in another world he truly died tonight.

He wanted to live, and live long. He wanted to be Cas’s constant, his confidant, his lover until death.

Dean looked at the stars and said, “I promise.”

As the final syllable was spoken, Cas was upon him, tipping him back on the mattress and kissing his lips. Dean rode the wave willingly, sealing his promise forever.

————

Lebanon, Kansas - Present Day

 

Dean Winchester was in a state of limbo.

Ever since Cas kissed him in the bunker kitchen, he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. They may be happy, testing out the new state of their relationship, but they would never be free.

The monsters wouldn’t fuck off to another dimension because Dean wanted them to. There would always be work to do, and it would always hinder their relationship.

The way Sam and Jack reacted to the news the other day was also underwhelming. Dean was expecting something big to come of it, but his brother just shrugged and continued flipping through lore. Even Jack, who Dean was concerned about objecting due to his closeness to Cas, nodded like he knew all along and went to brew himself a mug of tea.

Dean knew he would never get the life he wanted with Cas. He knew it from the moment he acknowledged his pent-up feelings and acted upon them. Dean would have to make peace with it, and he would, but it would take a long time.

Until then, Dean got on with hunting, asking Cas to hang around more and help. Cas did, since he had nothing to run away from anymore. Dean also bonded with Jack the best he could, with Sam and Cas teaming up together more often too.

Dean appreciated this quiet time, but he knew it would come to an end soon enough.

Dean sighed, leaning back in his war room chair. He had been reading the lore Sam read for fun — the kid was odd — and was getting bored.

And of course, that’s when it happened.

Not even the extensive bunker wards could prevent an actual goddamn vortex from appearing above the war room table, the blue hole in space spitting out a large leather-bound book.

It fell onto the map table with a resounding thump, and Dean was grateful Cas, Sam, and Jack were on a joyride.

Dean watched the vortex blink out of existence like it was never there at all. He leaned over the table, standing up.

A note with Dean’s name was strapped to the book, and he took the yellowed piece of paper. He turned it over, a message written in neat handwriting on the back.

‘Dean,

I can sense your boredom from several dimensions away. As a gift, take a lost piece of history: the incomplete recordings of Ancient Egypt, as written by another Sam Winchester, in a far-off world and time. Since I am breaking the laws of time and space by giving this to you, hide it someplace outsiders will not find it. I hope this book will bring you comfort.

The Reality Weaver’

Dean tucked the note in his jacket pocket, and brought the book closer to his chair. He sat down, and opened the leather cover.

His brother’s handwriting was staring back at him.

Dean’s mouth fell open. “Good God,” he said to himself. “Freaky Friday.”

The first pages were topographical maps, clearly drawn by several sources. They were detailing a city in Egypt with a name he could not pronounce. A river ran all around it, districts based upon inherited jobs placed in certain areas. A pyramid palace rested to the north, large and imposing, even as a small drawing on a map.

Memories that were not Dean’s own filtered through his mind, triggered by the following written pages. He was reminded of his acid trip dreams to other realities.

He was a guard in Egypt. He remembered now.

And Cas was the Pharaoh.

Dean started flipping through pages as if possessed, reaching a section detailing the reign of one Castiel Antonius.

Dean read through the pages quickly, absorbing all the information in a frenzy.

Apparently, Castiel Antonius was the secret son of Marcus Antonius and Cleopatra. They killed themselves during a siege, and a young Cas was spirited away from the country by loyal advisors and noblemen. Cas travelled from country to country undetected, moving around often so as to not arouse suspicion. Cas returned to Egypt when he was a young man, brutally killing the oppressive foreign rulers that had taken over Egypt. Cas reclaimed his throne and reigned until he was the ripe old age of sixty, bringing about a rare age of prosperity and peace.

Putting information on lower vitality in earlier time periods into perspective, Dean realized sixty was a wonderful age to die.

Dean read the next sentence, and nearly fainted.

Castiel Antonius, from a few years after his reign began until his death, had a right hand man. An advisor he trusted with his life, and remained his guard for decades.

His name was Dean Winchester.

This was what the Reality Weaver meant by the book bringing him a sense of comfort. It was comforting. Creepy, yes, but also comforting.

The bunker’s metal door unlatched, and Dean jumped in surprise. He shut the book, placing the note inside. He found a space on a lesser-used shelf and slid it there, hoping it would not be noticed.

Dean arrived back at the map table just as Cas descended the stairs, followed by Sam and Jack talking animatedly.

Dean caught Cas’s disgruntled expression and smiled innocently. “Have fun?”

Cas groaned in answer, Dean chuckling and tossing his arms around Cas’s neck. Dean made to lean in, and Cas met his lips in the middle.

“Ew,” Jack commented, brushing past the couple. “Not in the war room.”

“My book space is sacred,” Sam agreed, following Jack into the kitchen.

Once they were gone, Dean grinned and kissed Cas some more.

Cas kept pace with him gladly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who stuck with this part of the series and posted lovely comments!

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated!


End file.
